The Enchanted Life of Thomas Barrow
by Are Are
Summary: Sequel to 'Haunts'.
1. Chapter 1

BOOK ONE**: THOUGHTS**

* * *

Jimmy dreamed of a pair of white-gloved hands; they moved like wings over a table covered in black velvet. _Was_ it velvet? There seemed to be shapes swirling within it- when Jimmy peered closer he could see little scenes: the masts of storm-tossed ships, here and gone, black waters churning in blue vases, silhouetted figures that bowed away in a swirl of darkness.

The hands held up a card- Jimmy saw the back of it, which was printed with a word that shivered and moved as if the letters themselves would crawl away. Jimmy blinked, and the word flickered into view: _Strongheart_. Then it flickered away again, and a voice came buzzing down from up above him.

_"What?!" _Jimmy asked, shouting up at the huge, indecipherable voice. He tried to look upwards, but he could not turn his face away from the cards. The voice came again, and this time Jimmy heard a word it the roar of it, a ghost of a word:

"Guess-"

"Uhm, _what_? I don't know what you mean-" Jimmy asked, trying fruitlessly to reason with the thing behind and above the hands.

"The card," The voice said, and the hands drew lines into the darkness before his eyes. "Guess."

"Um, the card, right," Jimmy said, "It's ah, it's ah- the four of hearts!"

The hands turned the card around, fingers moving fluidly, to reveal the ace of diamonds, which Jimmy registered before it disappeared with a flourish. Another card appeared, and Jimmy saw that it was emblazoned with a picture of a dog, and again, the word- "Strongheart"- whatever _that _meant.

"_Try_," The voice said, and Jimmy stared at the back of the card, willing himself to have a flash of divine inspiration. "Ah..." He tried to look _through_ the card, attempting to see beyond the particles, out to the other side- "it's the- it's the- don't _tell_ me, I have it- wait- it's-"

* * *

"The nine of _spades_!" Jimmy yelled, exultantly, shooting straight out of bed. In his still-asleep triumphance he made to climb to his feet while on the cot, but this action only served to knock both himself and Thomas half to the floor. The alarm had not gone off yet, but Thomas's eyes slitted open. "What's th'matter, Jimmy?" Thomas mumbled, and then, before Jimmy could reply, Thomas closed his eyes completely again, bringing his index finger to his lips. "Shhh."

Jimmy was tremendously excited, and he opened his mouth to tell Thomas _why_, but found that the reason was lost to him. "I... I don't know," he whispered, pressing a hand to his own temple. "Stupid. I had such an _interesting_ dream, and then, I-" Jimmy sighed, shaking his head. "It's lost. Damn."

"No, don't do that..." Thomas muttered, and Jimmy lay down atop him, running own hand through Thomas's hair. "Don't do _what_?" Jimmy said into Thomas's ear, smiling privately at the way Thomas, eyes shut, screwed up his face at the intrusion upon his sleep.

"Don't have _interesting_ dreams," Thomas said, and wrapped his arms around Jimmy. "Don't want no more of that..."

"Sure we do," Jimmy said, just to watch Thomas frown. "No," Thomas whispered. Jimmy warred with himself- wanting to tease Thomas a bit, wanting to eke out a few precious moments more of sleep- and sleep won, and he dreamed of nothing, for a while.

But then the alarm was going off, and Jimmy dressed carefully in his own clothes._ More than half a year and nobody has caught us out,_ Jimmy thought, with smug satisfaction, as he tied his necktie in Thomas's mirror. Thomas was getting dressed- well, he was sitting on the bed with a cigarette, staring blankly at the room, actually- but he was _about_ to get dressed.

Jimmy met his eyes in the mirror, and Thomas gave him a baleful look. "You should dress in your _own_ room," Thomas grumbled.

"What for? I can slip out and downstairs easier this way, and if, say, Carson catches me, I can just tell him I stopped in to ask you something."

Thomas only rolled his eyes in response. If the ensuing months had made Jimmy braver, then Thomas had only gotten more paranoid, as if to counterbalance him.

"And you shouldn't leave your _nightclothes_ in here, for God's sake," Thomas groused, for the thousandth time. Jimmy, satisfied that his reflection was all right, turned around, raising his hands nonchalantly. "Not _this_ again. I've been doing it for months. And it's more... ah, much more _efficient_ this way."

"I feel like I'm waiting for the axe to fall," Thomas said, rising groggily to his feet.

"You're lovely in the mornings," Jimmy said, laughing, and kissed Thomas on the corner of his mouth. Thomas looked at him sourly, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from Jimmy's face with expert skill. "Leave," He said, pointing from Jimmy to the door, but he tilted his face towards Jimmy's anyway, for another kiss.

Jimmy slipped downstairs and was having breakfast with everybody by the time that Thomas showed up. Thomas had a slight tendency towards lateness- Carson gave him a sharp word about it, now and again, but mostly he ignored it: Thomas did an excellent job, and had taken over lot of Carson's workload, too. Thomas was good, Jimmy thought, at insinuating himself into someplace or something and then becoming indispensable, the only man for the job. _Certainly he did that to me, just snuck right into my head without my noticing, _Jimmy thought, and turned when Thomas sat next to him, to favor him with perhaps too sweet of a smile. Thomas returned his smile with a carefully neutral expression.

"Good morning, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, half-raising his coffee.

"Good morning, James," Thomas said.

"We have an extremely busy day ahead of us, Thomas," Mr. Carson said. "I have the final guest list for the party. We're going to have to make sure at least ten rooms are ready- actually, now that I think on it, a _dozen_- best to leave a few extra open..."

Thomas was nodding, and Jimmy, his mind drifting, remembered vaguely his dream- something about a pair of hands, a secret trick- he concentrated on the sliver of recollection, frowning, and rose when Carson rose, pulling his deck of cards out of his pocket.

"Here, I have a game," Jimmy said, and everyone glanced at him as they sat. Jimmy shuffled his cards neatly, and tapped down his deck, before pulling a card from the bottom and holding it facing himself, so that only the back was visible to his co-workers.

"Well?" Alfred said, looking between Jimmy and his word-cross impatiently.

"I hold in my hand a card," Jimmy said, showing it around without revealing the queen of spades, who looked back at him sternly, "and I'm going to give you all a guess as to what it is. _But_-" he said, over Alfred, who had started to speak- "don't _just_ guess. I want you to- kind of try to _see_ it in your mind, like envision it with your- um, _third_ eye, or whatever the mystics call it-"

He held the card up, first to Anna, who made a show of looking at it, then laughed. "I give in. Is it the two of diamonds?"

"Sorry Anna," Jimmy said, turning the card to Bates, who raised his gaze from the paper long enough to say: "The six of hearts."

"Nah," Jimmy said, and turned to Alfred. "Mmm," Alfred said, staring at the card with great intensity. "The...uh... three? Of...spades?"

"Very disappointing," Jimmy said, shaking his head at Alfred with a mock frown. He held the card out towards O'Brien, who looked at, only for an instant, and then away. "The queen of diamonds," She said, and again Jimmy shook his head. "Close, but no cigar, Miss O'Brien," Jimmy replied, and nudged Thomas with his elbow. Thomas was deeply engrossed in the guest list.

"Care for a guess, Mr. Barrow?" Jimmy asked, but Thomas barely looked at him. "Three of spades," he answered Jimmy, absently.

"Alfred already said that," Jimmy chided, shaking his head at the table. "You're all very poor at this. Let's do another."

He did eleven more cards, with poor results- only O'Brien got any at all right, and even then, only two of them. "You're a statistical anomaly, Miss O'Brien," Jimmy said. "And the rest of you are woefully out of touch with the, ah, realms of the divine."

"Should we be attempting to contact the realms of the divine? It seems a rather poor idea, to me," Mrs. Hughes said, from the door.

"It's just a bit of fun," Jimmy said, smiling- "Nothing's going to happen-"

For a moment, everyone at the table looked around uncomfortably at one another- except for Thomas, still with his nose in the guest roster- but nothing _did _happen, and then the bells started to ring. Everybody rose in a clatter of chairs, off to do their jobs.

* * *

"I can't believe we're getting to dress in costume for the party," Alfred said to Jimmy, between dinner and the serving of the after-dinner drinks. "I know," Jimmy said, "it should be interesting. What'll you go as?"

"The girls have helped me to make my costume," Alfred answered, looking pleased. "I'm going to be a buccaneer. I even found a hat for it."

Jimmy pictured Alfred as a giant pirate, serving drinks with an eyepatch and sword, and laughed aloud. "Wonderful, very nice," He said, to make up for laughing.

"And you? What'll you do?"

"Haven't decided yet," Jimmy said. "Better soon, then," Alfred said, lifting a tray over his head with grace he would never have possessed a year before. "Only two days left."

"I'll go into Ripon and buy a mask or something. On my half day. Tomorrow." Jimmy answered, pausing to fix his hair in the reflection of a platter. Alfred snorted at him. "Will you and Mr. Barrow be wearing matching costumes, then?"

He didn't say it malevolently as he might once have done. Jimmy noticed. Things, as they say, were different now. "That's a fine idea," Jimmy replied, easily. "Maybe we'll be a pair of gallant sailors to combat your loathsome buccaneer."

"And Mr. Carson as a sea monster!" Alfred exclaimed, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

"If he agrees," Jimmy said, "it could really be an impressive ensemble."

They served alcohol under the observation of Thomas. Carson was downstairs, busying himself with party planning or something, Jimmy wasn't sure what. _Perhaps sewing his sea monster costume,_ he thought, smothering a grin.

"Well, if he gives me jewelry, I'll have to tell him I can't accept it, regardless of how _nice_ it is," Lady Mary was saying, to Lady Rose, who looked at her as though she were speaking in a foreign tongue. "It would be inappropriate to accept. Especially as I am in mourning."

"Poor Sir Clements," Lady Rose said, sighing. "He's so good-looking. And so terribly enamored of you."

"He's frankly a bore," Lady Mary said, scarcely altering her tone. "I've already told him that I'm not going to ever-" On this she lowered her voice, and they exchanged confidences that Jimmy thought were probably dull. He tried to catch Thomas's eye, and found Thomas already looking at him- a common enough occurrence, but one that never failed to please Jimmy.

"Well, if you _must_ know, I'm going as Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth," The Dowager Countess was saying across the room. Thomas, very deliberately, raised one eyebrow at Jimmy. Jimmy had to look away to keep from making faces back at him.

"Ah," Lord Grantham said, humor evident in his tones. "The Virgin Queen."

"Robert, _please_ don't descend into vulgarianism," the Dowager replied, but Lady Grantham had stifled a laugh.

"Well, I think it's all quite exciting, really," Lord Grantham said, sounding pleased- with the party or himself, Jimmy couldn't be sure. Sometimes it seemed as if Lord Grantham had changed most of all- like some secret sadness he had always carried had been lifted, the curtain thrown back, revealing an optimist where none had been before.

_Oh, wait, I forgot O'Brien,_ Jimmy thought, sneaking another glance at Thomas, who stared back at him blankly, as though nothing had happened. _O'Brien's definitely most changed. She's almost tolerable now._

"Well, I've been to a costumed ball or two in London," Mr. Gregson was saying. "But a real Hallowe'en party is just so _interesting_. Especially after all of the stories Edith regaled me with about your _own, _shall we say, _supernatural_ experiences-"

_Blah, blah, blah,_ Jimmy thought, still staring at Thomas. _Drink your drinks and go to bed so I can have my evening._

Across the room, Thomas stifled a laugh with a tiny cough, almost as if he had heard what Jimmy was thinking. Jimmy grinned at him, just for a second, and took the trays around once more.

* * *

"We should try that again," Jimmy whispered, into Thomas's ear. They were sitting together on the piano bench in the servants hall, Thomas making a muddled attempt at picking out _Ode to Joy_ on the keys. Everyone else had gone to bed.

"Try what again?" Thomas asked, his brow furrowing in concentration as he guided his hands over the piano. His injured hand, for some reason, had an easier time playing than his good hand did. Jimmy laid his hand over Thomas's fingers, guiding them from key to key. "It's: '_E E _F_ G G _F_ E D'-" _ Jimmy said, humming the notes. "Not _F E G_."

Thomas nodded, and moved his hands over the keys again, roughly carving out the melody. "Very good," Jimmy said, nodding approvingly.

"Try what again?" Thomas asked, turning to him, and Jimmy leaned forward to whisper in his ear. "That thing we tried last week," Jimmy murmured, and Thomas looked up at him, his expression indicating alarm.

"Oh, come on!" Jimmy said, hitting his shoulder. "It wasn't _that_ terrible, was it? After all, you managed to-"

"Mmm. Maybe in a few days," Thomas said, shiftily, and Jimmy laughed helplessly. "I've never met a person who could be such a gratification and yet such a detriment to my self-esteem."

"It wasn't, ah, bad," Thomas said, adjusting his tie. "You could just use a little more... finesse."

"Well. We must push forward, Mr. Barrow," Jimmy said, solemnly, and Thomas laughed, surprised. Jimmy leaned up against Thomas, and said into his ear: "Let's go to _bed_." He breathed in the smell of Thomas's hair for an instant, and then sat back, contentedly. Thomas was already getting to his feet- he held out his gloved hand, and Jimmy took it, swinging upright neatly. "After you," he said to Thomas, with the courtliest gesture he could muster, and Thomas led them to his room. Jimmy pinched his behind on the way up the stairs. "Excuse me, Mr. Barrow, but you're in my way," He said almost under his breath, and Thomas stepped aside with a smirk, letting Jimmy walk into his room.

_Our room,_ Jimmy thought- on the vanity his metronome ticked away, the perfect rhythm for sleeping to. It was the only part of Jimmy's none-too-subtle changeover to Thomas's room that Thomas had not complained about. Jimmy thought Thomas was probably quite touched by it- he believed, after learning Thomas a bit better, that Thomas had the secret heart of a criminal- but even under that, the secret heart of a _sentimentalist_. And he was poor at keeping secrets from Jimmy.

Jimmy undressed, hanging his clothes next to Thomas's, which earned him a disapproving look- but not very _convincingly_ disapproving, Jimmy thought. Thomas, _sans_ shirt, was lighting a cigarette. He fixed Jimmy with a look. "The D'Abernons are coming for the party."

"I heard," Jimmy answered, stripping completely naked- Thomas's eyes widened obviously- and wrapping himself in Thomas's dressing gown, which wasn't in keeping with the rest of his spotless clothes- it was a faded black and patched in a few places. "I suppose Awful Alfred the lavender valet-" here Jimmy broke off to chuckle at his own cleverness- "-hasn't found a new situation."

"And," Thomas said, with a pained look on his face, "The Duke is coming."

"The Duke?" Jimmy asked, uncomprehendingly. "What Du-" he broke off, as a flush rose on Thomas's cheeks. "Not the Duke _your lover_!" Jimmy hissed. Thomas nodded, embarrassedly. "I hope it's all, ah, water under the bridge," Thomas said. "At least I won't have to valet for him."

"_You_ hope?" Jimmy asked, incredulously. "I thought that bugger threw you over and burnt your letters, and probably broke you heart, too-"

"Well. I don't know that he broke my heart," Thomas said, tilting his face to the side. With his free hand he pushed his hair back from his brow. "I acted rather- ah- ungenerously towards him, as well, you know. You don't need to get so angry."

"If I see him I'll hit his bloody _face_," Jimmy said, feeling a flash of fury. Thomas blinked, looking taken aback by his vehemence. "That would be a mistake," Thomas said, raising an eyebrow imperiously. "Footmen should avoid fisticuffs with dukes whenever possible."

Thomas's mock-haughty expression broke apart the rage that had bloomed inside Jimmy at the mention of the horrid Duke. He took a deep breath through his nose, and Thomas waggled a finger at him in admonishment. "Temper, temper," He said, smiling his half smile, until Jimmy was compelled to take the cigarette from his fingers and throw it away.

"Lay down," Jimmy said. He pressed Thomas back onto the little bed, and kissed him along the line of his throat. The lay wrapped together for long minutes. At some point the dressing gown Jimmy was wearing fell open, and he moved against Thomas, whose inhalations turned to shallow moans, each one speaking of his desire. Jimmy felt Thomas's love for him in the trembling of the other man's limbs, in his hands against Jimmy's hands as they touched one another, always warring for space and territory. _The best _kind_ of war, _Jimmy thought, his head hazy with desire_, a war of love that never ends. _

* * *

Thomas, deep in dreams, found himself in a low ceilinged room filled with murals. In the murals, ballet dancers moved through the air, executing neat pirouettes in their painted world as if they were moving through water.

"Where am I?" Thomas asked, and then he saw a magician in the far corner of the room, standing on an empty stage. A piano without a bench sat behind him, and the magician leaned against it, resplendent in his silk-lined cape. His head, covered by a top hat, was bowed towards his own hands, which turned something over and over, in ceaseless motions. Thomas felt that perhaps he was in the presence of a great illusionist, and approached the stage carefully. "Excuse me," he said, when the man did not look up at his approach- "Sir?"

Then the conjurer looked up- and it wasn't Harry Houdini, after all, but Jimmy, smiling at him from underneath the shadow of his showy hat. "Thomas," he said, holding up his hands- Thomas saw that he held a deck of cards. "You must be of _strong heart_ and let me _practice_." Jimmy held his gaze, his hands ceaselessly shuffling the cards. "It isn't as _easy_ for me to learn as it is for you. I don't have the gift. Like you and the piano. But if I _try-_"

"Practice _what_?" Thomas asked, but the shadow over Jimmy's face grew, covering him in an ominous darkness. "Thomas-" Jimmy said- his cape blowing back as if he stood in a gale, his top hat flying away, revealing his golden head- "_Thomas!"_

Thomas, fear making him quicker than he could have imagined being, ran towards Jimmy, his arms outstretched, but Jimmy had vanished, and he was left clutching empty air. Suddenly Thomas was outside, alone, against a seedy backdrop of buildings. His feet pounded against wet cobblestones, and he ran frantically through the dark, calling out- _"Jimmy! Jimmy, where _are_ you?!"_

The road wrapped around a turn, and he sprinted through it- there was a figure laying on the ground up ahead- but the dream stretched out beyond where Thomas's stride could reach, and he fell back from the huddled shape, until it had receded into the far distance. "No!" Thomas moaned, not knowing if he had ever felt such fear before, not even in the trenches. "No, _no_- let me- _please_-"

The image of the cobbled street tore apart, as if it were made of gossamer, and Thomas was alone, floating in a dark, vast space, pinpointed by endless dots of light. A voice came down around him, blanketing him in words he could not understand, until he could only press his palms against his ears to block out the tremendous sound-

* * *

Thomas started awake, almost sitting up completely. He looked for Jimmy, feeling the frantic pounding of his pulse in his throat, but Jimmy was right there, dressed in his work attire and sitting in the wooden chair, playing with his deck of cards.

When Thomas met his eyes Jimmy's hands stilled on the cards, and he looked back at Thomas with an uncharacteristic expression. _Worry_, Thomas thought, and felt around for his matches. "What time is it?"

"Half five, and we need to _talk_ about something," Jimmy said, without preamble. Thomas felt a dark touch of fear. He had tried many times to envision Jimmy _leaving_ him- that was, so he'd be more prepared for it in the eventuality that it occurred- but each time, Thomas always found he could not imagine what would happen _afterwards_, after Jimmy had left him. _A long dark walk,_ Thomas thought, _and then you grow old and die. But at least for a bit of time, I have had something wonderful_._ Something nothing else could touch._

"Yes, what is it?" Thomas said, grasping his matches. He kept his voice even by an act of will.

"I've been having strange dreams again," Jimmy said, instead of telling Thomas that they were through. Thomas felt a rush of relief so overwhelming that he did not respond to Jimmy's statement, until Jimmy leaned forward and prodded his arm. "I _said_, I've been having strange _dream_s again."

"Dreams of Lieutenant Courtenay?" Thomas asked, finding his voice.

Jimmy shook his head emphatically _No._ "Nah, it's not him- I don't _think_-" Jimmy sighed, squeezing his cards together and putting them in their little box. "But- now, Thomas, don't be annoying about this- but it _feels_ different than regular dreams. Like before. _Portentous_, or something."

If by 'annoying', Jimmy meant 'not having wild flights of fancy about ghosts', then yes, Thomas was going to be quite annoying. He raised an eyebrow at Jimmy, giving him his best look of finely-wrought skepticism. "You think your dreams are predicting the future?" Thomas asked, dryly, and Jimmy flushed with irritation.

"I don't know!" Jimmy said, shaking Thomas a little with the force of his grip. "No," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "It's like- they're very... _significant._"

"What happens in these dreams?" Thomas asked, lighting his cigarette. Jimmy held his hand out, and Thomas passed it off to him, lighting himself another.

"I've got to stop this," Jimmy said, waving the cigarette in the air, as if to underline his words with smoke. "It's a nasty habit."

Thomas rolled his eyes. "The dream."

"What? Oh, oh, yes," Jimmy said, leaning forward. He still rarely _smoked _his cigarettes, and this one was no exception. It burned away in Jimmy's hand as he spoke, emphatically but quietly. "There's a card player, and he keeps- or she keeps- showing me the backs of cards, and a huge voice comes down from up above, and tells me to _guess_. So I stare at the cards, over and over, until I can almost split them apart, or, like, get _through_ them- to see what they are. On the other side, I mean. But the _voice_..." Jimmy trailed off and shrugged, but his eyes were bright and insistent. "It means something, I know it does," Jimmy said, and tucked his deck of cards into his livery.

"Perhaps you should become a magician," Thomas said, remembering some pieces of his own dream.

Jimmy scowled at him. "Fine, don't listen to me, even though I'm _always_ right, and you're always _wrong_." He said it so earnestly that Thomas smiled, and pulled Jimmy against him for a brief embrace. "Well, you just think on it, then," He said to Jimmy, as soothingly as he could, "and I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Jimmy made a face that told of his displeasure at being placated, but he let Thomas hold him, anyways. For a minute they pressed their foreheads together, breathing in unison.

"London this weekend," Thomas said, after a moment had passed. It had been a triumph of several months planning to achieve a forty-eight hour stretch when neither of them had to work. It had also meant Thomas had his hand in the scheduling now, which was a tedious business, though it did ensure that he and Jimmy, for some reason, always ended up with the same half-day.

"Mmm. I'm excited," Jimmy said, his head still bowed against Thomas's. "We should go to all the most disreputable places. And the big movie theatres."

"We need to think of our stories," Thomas said. "I think I have it settled. "You'll go into London on a bit of a personal holiday, and I'll go on to Chelmsford- that's why we're taking the same train- because I have a pass to play cricket at the Essex CCC."

It was a good story, Thomas thought, and it explained why they'd ride in and out together- in case anybody _asked_, not that anybody had, except O'Brien. And Thomas had not needed to give her the official version of events. But Jimmy was shaking his head. "We don't need to do that," Jimmy said, staunchly. "We'll tell them the truth. We're having a holiday together. Everybody makes jokes 'cause we're _friends_, right? Well, let them joke- it seems less suspicious if we _tell_ them all the suspicious stuff."

That logic seemed intrinsically flawed. Thomas leaned away from Jimmy, to better look at him. "You think we're less obvious if we _act_ obvious?" Thomas asked. Jimmy smiled. "Right," he said, clapping his hand onto Thomas's upper arm. "_Now_ you get it!" But then Jimmy's expression darkened, and he touched his fingertips to Thomas's hair, gently. "What were you so worried about, when you woke up?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas waved his question away. "I don't know, the party," Thomas said, looking away. "It's the first one in so long."

"_He's lying,"_ Jimmy said. _"I hate it when he looks worried like that. I'd do anything to make it stop."_

Thomas turned to Jimmy, confused. "What?" he asked, but Jimmy exhaled his final (and only) drag from the spent cigarette, and looked at Thomas with a bemused expression. "I didn't say anything. You _are_ distracted."

"But I thought-" Thomas rubbed his eyes with one hand, grimaced at his palm, and looked around for his glove. "You're right," he said. "I am distracted."

"You _are_ Carson. Try not to care too much. It's only a job." Jimmy pointed at him sternly, and then smiled, and went to finish getting ready, before Thomas noticed the time and made him leave.

At the end of their half-day duties, they met outside the house and went into the village together, to catch the bus into Ripon. Jimmy bounced his feet on the bus, jostling his leg against Thomas's, and looked at him with palpable excitement.

"I can't wait for the party, even if we have _work_ during it like the poor slaves we are," Jimmy said. "I wish the haunts would come back."

He said it longingly, and Thomas stared at him. "You're insane," Thomas replied, and Jimmy laughed, pushing himself more firmly up against Thomas's side. "I wonder what I should buy for a costume," Jimmy said. "Something cheap. But superb."

"Are you really so competitive, that you want to have the nicest costume?" Thomas asked.

"Mmmm-hmm. Well," Jimmy allowed, "I know I can't waste a fortune on one like the _family_ and all their hoity-toity friends. But I want the best costume of all, downstairs."

"Ah," Thomas said. Jimmy pushed their legs together, again. "What do you think I should go as?"

"An angel," Thomas said, to make Jimmy laugh.

"I think you should go as Julius Caesar, and I can be Brutus," Jimmy said, with a wicked grin. "_Et tu, Thomas?_"

"That's way off. I already have my costume. A black sheet and a rusty old scythe from the barn. I'll get a skull mask or something today and be set."

"Death has come, sir, and he would like to serve you champagne." Jimmy said, in a low tone. "Well," he went on, secretively pinching Thomas's leg, "I guess I'm on my own, then."

"Poor thing, having to be costumed all by yourself," Thomas said, and Jimmy pinched him again.

In the city Thomas found a papier-mâché mask with a skeleton's face painted on it. The lines were a little wobbly, but he didn't give a hang about costumes, and so mostly wandered around, while Jimmy prowled the aisles of shops, looking for something that had to be, as he said, both "cheap" and "superb".

"Oh, to hell with it, I'll just go as a bloody _footman_," Jimmy said, after an hour of fruitless searching. "Oh, wait-" and he was off again, combing through the second-hand bins.

Eventually Jimmy found an ancient red dressing gown with a gaudy silk finish to it and patched elbows, and paired it with red pyjamas. He bought a flimsy mask like Thomas's, but his was painted brilliant red and bore the leering half-face of the Devil, replete with papier-mâché horns.

" '_Mephisto in slippers' _," Jimmy said, glumly. "It's not everything I imagined it would be."

"Carson is going to have a fit about your wearing pyjamas to serve," Thomas said, amused.

"I'll tell him I'm dressed as someone who doesn't care about their job," Jimmy said, and Thomas smiled at him. _I love you,_ he thought. _It gets worse every day._

* * *

The went to dinner at a restaurant in the Old Deanery. Jimmy, still tightly wound with excitement- maybe because of his _portentous_ dreams- consumed several stiff cocktails that the waiter called 'Sidecars'- and got progressively more inebriated. Thomas watched, helpless to stop him, and too amused to really want to.

"The thing... I really- the thing I really like, is..." Jimmy was talking, a mite fuzzily, but Thomas found Jimmy's consistent capacity for holding his liquor remarkable- and a little alarming, too. If he had consumed as much alcohol as Jimmy had, Thomas knew he would be slumbering soundly on the restaurant floor. _Can you be an alcoholic if you don't drink every day, but you get drunk every time you drink? _Thomas wondered.

Jimmy had his hand on Thomas's knee under the tablecloth. He pinned Thomas with his stare. "My favorite part is _all_ of it," Jimmy said, confidentially, and Thomas kept his gaze flat, so as not to give away his amusement and encourage such a line of conversation. "Let's talk about that later," Thomas said, taking a sip of his wine.

Jimmy snorted. "Yes," he agreed. "In _bed._" This last set him off on a laughing jag. Jimmy laughed helplessly into his hands for several minutes, his distraction allowing Thomas to pay the bill without the typical argument.

On the bus, Jimmy dozed off against Thomas, breathing gently into his shoulder, and Thomas did not move him, but instead looked out the window at the dark countryside. _"I love you,"_ Jimmy said, and Thomas turned to him, only to find Jimmy still asleep.

* * *

Guests had already begun arriving for the party. The dozen rooms were needed, and two more, and Thomas, on his return, was caught by Carson and asked to be a sport and pitch in. "I'm going to my room," Jimmy said, "to sleep it off. Come and get me later-" He whispered, in an aside to Thomas, who nodded, and then went to work.

The Duke of Crowborough had arrived, and so had Sir Clements Jenison-Pike, Mr. Emory Robison, and Lord Lloyd something- the last three were all attempting to win Lady Mary's affections, but Thomas doubted they would even win a polite word. Lady Rose had some of her modern (and loud) girlfriends there, and, a hallway over, Lord D'Abernon was tucked in a resplendent set of rooms adjacent to his wife. It seemed to be upsetting Carson, this level of commingling between the classes, but Lord Grantham did not object. _He objects to very little, these days,_ Thomas thought. Lord Grantham's complicity in the destruction of social stratas forced Carson into a disapproving silence that made him much more tolerable to be around.

Thomas had not yet encountered the Duke, and for that he was glad. It had been ten years, and he thought that there should be no great animosity between them anymore, no matter _how_ irate Jimmy got. It wasn't that. It was- it was because Thomas didn't want to look into the eyes of someone who had known him a decade ago and see what he would see. _I'm as different, now,_ Thomas thought, _as I could possibly be. _

He had heard the Duke's mother was dead several years, and felt a tiny bit badly for him, in a removed sort of way. Thomas remembered the Duke being rather close to his mother, or hating her, or something- something of some kind of significance.

The house seemed full of noise tonight- Thomas could hear it everywhere- the whispers and laughter of Lady Rose's set, someone humming, guests chatting over an impromptu game of cards, music playing, Lord Grantham telling a droll story in the billiards room, the Dowager talking politely or wittily, behind her hand-

Thomas blinked. For a moment he had felt as though he could hear _everything_- all the sounds in the house, all at once, blending into a roar. But then it was gone, and he heard only faint music from another room, and smelled a hint of one of the Ambassador's cigars.

"Ah, Thomas," Carson said, descending like a hawk upon a too-slow moving mouse, "I was wondering if you could have a last look at the hall before you retire for the evening. I myself must console Mrs. Patmore. Some aspects of the order that came in were not to her liking."

"Yes, Mr. Carson," Thomas obliged. In the hall he moved some tables and directed some others to be adjusted, and carried off chairs to place tastefully in other areas of the house, as inconspicuously (and noiselessly) as he could.

"Let's stop for the evening. We've done all we can do, and everyone's going to bed," Thomas said, finally, watching with pleasure as his voice issued commands obeyed immediately_. Ah_, he thought, _moving up in the world. Well, a little._

And then came the oddest rushing in Thomas's ears, and an accompanying realization- or sensation- Thomas _felt_- or- no, somehow he _knew_- that Jimmy had woken from his drunken slumber. Thomas heard a whisper in his ear, the faintest possible variation of Jimmy's voice- "_...I must tell Thomas- oh, wait, I'm not in _our _room..."_

Thomas blinked, pausing at the top of the stairs. "Mr. Barrow?" Alfred asked him, uncertainly. "D'ya feel alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," Thomas said- the feeling vanished, as quickly as it had come over him.

Downstairs the staff had gathered in the servant's hall to carve jack-o'-lanterns for the party. "I can't believe Mr. Carson isn't making you all do this in the barn," Thomas said, upon entering.

"It was Mrs. Hughes's idea," Anna said, smiling at Thomas. Bates had his sleeves rolled up and his arms covered in pumpkin innards- Thomas hoped that he had already attended to Lord Grantham tonight- and scarcely looked up, so intent was he on his carving. "No!" Anna said, tapping a spot on the pumpkin. "Cut _here_, not _there_!"

"My mistake," Bates said, smiling at her.

The room was a tremendous mess, and had a convivial atmosphere. It was crowded with the other guests' servants. Fred- the D'Abernon's valet, whom Thomas hadn't seen in several months- smiled when he came into the room, and turned his pumpkin around in lieu of a handshake. "Looks good, doesn't it?" Fred asked, with a cheeky smile. His jack-o'-lantern sported a fanged mouth and a rather uneven set of eyes.

"Nice to see you, Fred," Thomas said, shaking his head, "but I'm afraid that's a bit rough."

He sat next to O'Brien, who watched the proceedings with a dour expression.

"What's eating you?" he asked, offering her a match for her cigarette. O'Brien looked over at him. "All this," She said, indicating the room with a flick of her cigarette. "It seems like tempting fate, doesn't it?"

Thomas considered this.

"And it calls up unpleasant memories," O'Brien added, in an undertone. "For me, anyways," She added, looking up at him- a hint of a smile on her lips- and then away, to stare at the jack-o'-lanterns with a fixed expression.

"Not so unpleasant for me, considering," Thomas replied. Fred was lighting a candle. "And _now_, a _blessing_," he said, in a spooky voice, making the maids giggle.

"Jack o' the lantern! Joan the wad,

Who tickled the maid and made her mad,

Light me home, the weather's bad!"

Fred recited, as if it were an incantation, and placed the candle inside the pumpkin. The face flickered mysteriously, adding dignity to the poor carving job.

Thomas sat back, contented for a moment- but then, in his ears the strange rushing noise came again, and he blinked, sitting up straighter in his chair. O'Brien was saying something to Thomas, but he couldn't hear her. Thomas staggered to his feet, largely unnoticed by the room. In his ear- no, in his _mind_- he could hear someone speaking, as if through layers and layers of glass-

_"...What are you doing here?_" It was one half of a conversation, but Thomas was too far away to hear the other speaker's reply. He made his way around Fred, and around the table, deaf to the noises around him. Everyone was moving their lips, the scene lively and animated- and _mute_- and Thomas watched Anna tip her head back, laughing silently. _My god, what is happening to me?_ Thomas thought, and somehow managed to get through the doorway, his mind blank except for a vast wall of panic, and the voice.

_"I don't understand. What's your name?" _It sounded like an old gramophone playing in another room, it sounded unreal- Thomas staggered up the stairs, catching himself on the wall. And then he had perhaps the single strangest feeling of his life- the voice in his head _overlapped_ with the voice in the real world- the speaker's voice, _Jimmy's_ voice, coming from the men's hall. The Jimmy who was speaking in Thomas's mind- the sound of him- meshed perfectly with Jimmy-in-_reality_, and for a moment Thomas had the terrifying feeling of being in an echo chamber, or a hall of mirrors-

and then the strange affliction stopped, suddenly, and Thomas took a gasping breath, unaware that he had forgotten to breathe for several seconds. He tried to still his trembling- and listened to the conversation in the hall- the _real_ hall, not his head-

"I can't _believe_ you'd have the bloody gall to come here, you bloody _bastard_!" Jimmy was half-yelling. Jimmy sounded very drunk still- and _very_ angry.

_Oh, no,_ Thomas thought, and sprinted up the stairs, skidding to a halt as Jimmy, his back to Thomas, followed through on a punch, and a man fell to the floor.

It was like walking onto a stage in the middle of a play. Jimmy stood over the man, his hands curled into fists, his back moving up and down with his breath, and the man shielded his face. The noise had been loud, but nobody came up from downstairs- the frivolity of the party had covered for this, at least. "What's going on?" Thomas asked, and the man looked up over his arm. Thomas felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. It was, of course, the Duke. _Oh, hell, Jimmy,_ Thomas thought, and Jimmy, not acknowledging Thomas's presence, raised his fist again.

"_No!_" Thomas yelled, and got between them. Jimmy's fist smashed into the side of Thomas' lip, and then Jimmy stumbled back, looking at his hand. "Oh, _shite,_" He said, drunkenly, his lips going white, as he looked at Thomas's face. "Thomas," Jimmy said, "I didn't _mean_ to! I was tryin' to hit the _Duke!"_

"Jimmy, go away," Thomas snapped, and knelt down, to look for the first time in ten years into the face of the Duke of Crowborough. He looked older.

"Oh, Thomas," The Duke said, looking up at him. "That- that man attacked me-"

The Duke was drunk, too, Thomas realized. And his left eye was swelling shut. _He'll be fired_, Thomas thought. Behind him, Jimmy began to speak, and Thomas spoke to him without turning around. "Jimmy. Go. _Away_."

"I wanted a word with you- and he just-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Thomas said, calmly. "It was a misunderstanding. A terrible misunderstanding, but now he's going to _go away_, and I'll help you back to your room." Thomas helped lift the Duke, who rose unsteadily to his feet, weaving.

Thomas did not look back to see if Jimmy had listened to him. He wound through the house with the Duke leaning on him, praying to a God he did not believe in that they would not encounter anyone else.

"It's been a long time," The Duke said, faintly.

"That it has," Thomas agreed. He felt acutely uncomfortable in addition to his anxiety.

"I'm sorry for what a dreadful way I had about me- how dreadfully I treated you back then," the Duke mumbled. He sounded as if he had been crying.

"I- ah, I wasn't so kind myself," Thomas said, finding his room for him, and opening the door. The Duke walked in, his shoulders slumped. Thomas closed the door behind them, and watched with trepidation as the other man sat down unceremoniously on his bed, which was five times the size of Thomas's and ten times as comfortable. There was a silence, and then the Duke looked up at Thomas. "I'm destitute now, you know," The Duke said, suddenly, and put his face in his hands, mumbling something. Thomas took a wary step closer to him, noticing the careworn lines on his face- the recession of his hair- the marks of an unhappy decade. "What?" he asked, as politely as he could.

"I said you probably have more money than I do, now, Thomas. It's funny," The Duke added, making a grim croaking sound that was probably meant to be a laugh. "I suppose it's what I deserve."

Thomas felt the ungenerous inclination to agree- but he had to see if he could manage to save Jimmy's job. Perhaps the Duke would forget, if he had taken enough to drink. "I don't think-"

"I live in a big empty house that's nobody can afford to buy," The Duke said, talking over him. "I've had to sell of most of the _furniture_, for God's sake."

"That's very rough," Thomas said, taking a few careful steps forward to lay a hand on the Duke's shoulder- hopefully not in a way that could be misinterpreted. "I am sorry for you."

_But still, just desserts,_ Thomas thought. The Duke glanced up at him, with a sad look about him that Thomas vaguely remembered. "Who was he, the man who hit me?" The Duke asked, absently.

"A footman," Thomas answered, after a second's hesitation. "I'm going to ask you not to have anything done about him. It was a mistake."

"He didn't mistake me _for_ anyone. He _knew_ me. It was my name that made him _hit_ me," The Duke replied. He reached out to place his other hand atop Thomas's, and Thomas moved his fingers away.

"He's my- ah-" Thomas paused, looking away. "Please don't say anything." Thomas gave up pretense, looking into the Duke's face imploringly. "He didn't understand. Don't have him fired. I- I love him, you see."

"Oh. Ah," The Duke said, laughing his unhappy laugh. "It all begins to make sense."

"Will you _please _not say anything?" Thomas asked, not even bothering to keep the urgency out of his voice. "Please. If you feel badly about anything you ever did-"

"Good old Thomas, still willing to resort to blackmail," The Duke said, looking at him, and Thomas remembered something else from the past- the Duke's innate ability to be infuriatingly condescending. Even while weepy and drunk, apparently. _Chalk it up to the good old aristocracy_, Thomas thought, trying to keep his expression pleasant and earnest.

"No, I won't say anything," the Duke was going on, with a resigned air. "I can take my licks. I've certainly had to."

_My heart weeps_, Thomas thought, but he nodded, his mouth turning up into the semblance of a smile. "Thank you, your Grace," Thomas said, and laid his hand against the Duke's hand, for a fraction of a second. "I appreciate it more than I can possibly say."

"You're really in love with him?" The Duke asked, looking him over with maudlin curiosity. "You look all grown up, Thomas. How strange. I must look older, too. Funny. We see _ourselves _every day, and... but I digress. Are you- really- in love?"

"Yes, your Grace, very much so," Thomas said, hardly caring for his dignity.

"It's odd," The Duke said, "I can't picture you being _in love_."

"Well, I'm sure I act much the same as usual," Thomas said, eager to escape. He hoped Jimmy wasn't doing anything else that was horrendously stupid.

"You want to go and I won't keep you," The Duke said, laying down against his pillows. "I'm exhausted. Sleep well, Thomas."

"And you," Thomas answered, backing out. At the door his curiosity got the better of him, and he asked: "Your Grace?"

The Duke turned his head, and Thomas went on. "If you've really lost _all_ of your money- why didn't you just marry an _heiress_, like you planned to?"

"You know," The Duke said, leaning up a little. "It's funny. I planned on it, but... I couldn't ever bring myself to do it."

Thomas nodded, his hand on the door.

"It seemed too cruel, somehow," The Duke went on. "For everyone involved."

Then he lay back down, turning away from Thomas, and Thomas took that as his cue to leave.

Jimmy was waiting in Thomas's bed when Thomas got back. Thomas gave him a cold look- and then was silent for long minutes, at the sounds of a crowd of men coming upstairs and closing a crowd of doors. "You really can't stay in here tonight," Thomas whispered. "There are a hundred people here."

"Your lip's bleeding," Jimmy whispered back. His face was drawn. "I didn't mean to hit you. I don't know why I hit _him_."

"Did spirits make you?" Thomas asked, sarcastically. But he felt a whisper of concern- _portentous_ dreams, Jimmy had said- and the strange rushing Thomas had heard in his own ears, blotting out all sound-

"No," Jimmy shook his head, and reached one hand up, beckoning to Thomas. "It was my own stupidity." Thomas approached him, and sat down, and Jimmy pressed his fingertips to the sore spot on Thomas's lip. "I'm terribly sorry," Jimmy said, solemnly, and leaned in, to kiss Thomas very gently on the mouth.

Thomas kissed him back, for a moment, and then pulled his head away. "I think I've saved your job. But really, you are such an _idiot_ sometimes. Try not to get stinking drunk, won't you?"

Jimmy blinked, and then nodded. Thomas could see he was still inebriated. "I'm sorry. I'm just so happy to be with you, it's so _fun_..."

"That's hardly an excuse, is it?" Thomas asked, trying to look extremely displeased. "You go out hitting people because you're so _happy_?"

"Mmm, yes. No. I just got... a little- uhm, _protective_," Jimmy said, leaning back on the pillows.

"You can't sleep here," Thomas said, warningly, but Jimmy was already falling asleep.

"You're lucky that I care for you more than my job," Thomas said, and leaned down to kiss him. It hurt, but it felt good, too.

* * *

There, in the place where Jimmy had before been a reluctant dreamer, he had become a studious pupil. The cards turned over, and Jimmy guessed them- some right, most wrong, again and again, until his head flickered with spades and diamonds.

The _voice_- that frightful Metatron- came pouring down around Jimmy, and in the voice, the words:

"_Guess-_"

"I have been!" Jimmy cried out, his voice lost in the limitless black-velvet void. "I _am_!"

The voice became a thousand voices, dragging together into a babbling roar:

_"-practice you must guess the oh Jimmy if you don't practice you must you mustmustmustguess-"_

Jimmy forced his hands to his ears to block out the noise, shouting back into the starry darkness- "I'm trying! Oh, God help me, I'm trying-"

The void disappeared, and Jimmy saw a grey room with a white bed, and Thomas's hair peeking out from the coverlet. He raised a hand, to- something _-what?-_ and his hand was a card, the back turned to him, with a curious drawing and the word- _Strongheart-_ inscribed upon it in a vivid blue-

-And then the room turned into a long hall-and the hall became a casino-and the casino became some sterile blank space, and Jimmy could not _hold_ still, he was spinning away from the universe like a top-

"Wait!" He shouted, trying not to fall- _"Wait!"_ and the picture revolving around him dissolved into a picture of himself, sitting alone in the servants hall. Jimmy watched himself flip a card over, and set it down, only to stare at the back of another one.

"You must _practice_, my love," said Thomas's voice, right in his ear, but when Jimmy turned to find him Thomas was gone, and Jimmy was alone in the city, with torrents of rain flooding towards him through imaginary cobblestone streets, and Jimmy ran from it, to find a deck of cards-

* * *

Jimmy woke up, and climbed over Thomas's sleeping form, carefully- and then ran down the hall to the washroom, barely making it in time. He was sick several times, and crouched with his head in his hands for a moment, shaking and tasting bile. Finally he got up and washed himself with trembling hands.

Jimmy _wanted_ to go back to bed and lie against Thomas until the sun had risen- but his head throbbed, making sleep an impossible dream- and speaking of _dreams_, Jimmy thought, there was something he was supposed to do-

_It's very important_, Jimmy thought, opening the door to his own room, _to practice._

As he sat on his bed he had a sudden memory- a weak chinned man with a sad (but loathsome, for some reason) look about him speaking to Jimmy imperiously in the men's hall. "I've only come up here on personal business, and it's no concern of _yours_-" The man said, in his memories, tilting his chin at an angle that was so haughty precisely because it was unaffected.

"Oh," Jimmy said, horrified by his remembering. It had been the bloody _Duke_, and he'd hit him- Jimmy recalled a bright flash of blood, somewhere on Thomas's face- and Thomas's pale, livid expression. _Oh, damn, I didn't _mean_ to! _Jimmy thought, taking out his deck of cards.

Jimmy's head was pounding in time to the beating of his own heart, and he was almost painfully worried about just how angry Thomas was with him- but still, something in his memory clutched at his sleeve and tugged at his ear- _practice, practice, practice._ So Jimmy pulled up his wooden chair and sat in it, laying his cards facedown on his bed, not really sure why he felt so compelled- it was only a _game_, after all.

Jimmy stared at the back of a card, willing himself to see _through_ it, or feel out what it was through the point where his fingers touched the front, or to at least get some kind of _inclination_ in his head, anything. But nothing happened. The card remained a card, and Jimmy remained hungover, staring blearily at his hand until it blurred.

"The _jack of hearts_," Jimmy said, and flipped the card over, but it was the four of clubs. He picked another, forcing himself to look at it again, while the room wobbled around him the way it did on days when he had gotten especially drunk the night before.

Jimmy stared at the card, willing it to submit to him, and drew a long breath. "The SEVEN of DIAMONDS," he said, decisively, and flipped the card over. It was the jack of hearts.

Jimmy blinked, and then picked up the next card, turning it over in his hands immediately, to see if it was the seven of diamonds. It was not. Jimmy picked up another card, and tried to imagine what it was.

He did not know how long he spent at the cards, but the room had grown lighter when he heard a knock, and looked up. "What?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas opened the door a crack.

"Come _in_," Jimmy said, gesturing to him, but Thomas remained in the doorway. Thomas had never again set foot in Jimmy's room, though Jimmy had invited him to on numerous occasions. He seemed to have a bit of a complex about it.

Jimmy looked Thomas over- Thomas stood stiffly in the doorway, his head slightly bowed, already perfectly dressed.

"I wasn't so angry that you needed to leave," Thomas said, in a low voice, not looking up at Jimmy.

Jimmy stared at him- seeing neatly, for a moment, though one of Thomas's many artful facades. _He always makes such a fuss, _Jimmy thought, _but he couldn't bear it if I-_

"That's right, I couldn't bear it," Thomas said, a trifle sharply, as though Jimmy had said something rude.

"I didn't say that," Jimmy replied, and Thomas gave him a _wary_ look. _As if he half-expected me to reply that I hadn't spoken_, Jimmy thought.

"I didn't say you had," Thomas answered, smartly, and gave Jimmy the most neutral expression in his repertoire.

"Then what are you talking about?" Jimmy asked, watching Thomas grasp for an answer.

"Oh, just come in," Jimmy said, and walked over to Thomas, clutching him by his jacket and tugging him into the room. Thomas resisted him for a second, and then- with a wary glance up and down the hall- allowed himself to be led in.

Jimmy closed his door. Thomas was blinking and looking around as though he had just landed in some foreign port. Jimmy came up close to him and grabbed his chin, examining Thomas's mouth.

"Not a _very_ bad split," Jimmy managed, after a moment, though he felt acutely that his throat was closing with guilt. To the left of the cut on Thomas's lip was a perfect white line, barely noticable- a year-old reminder of the fight he'd fought for Jimmy. _Now you'll have _two _scars because of me,_ Jimmy thought, shutting his eyes for a second.

"How much of last night do you remember?' Thomas asked, looking down at him. Thomas seemed uneasy in his room. Jimmy wondered if Thomas was really still so affected by the disastrous encounter that had transpired there. It had been a long while ago, by Jimmy's reckoning- a century before, an eon before. _Of_ _course he's affected, _ Jimmy thought, his heart twisting, for a moment, in his chest- and he leaned up, a little, to place his hands against the back of Thomas's neck. Jimmy forced Thomas to look him in the eyes, a game that was a little bit like trying to catch a fly between two fingers. Thomas was forever flicking his eyes here and away, to the other side of the room-

"I remember dinner," Jimmy said, looking at him gravely. Thomas stared back as if he were quite arrested by Jimmy's gaze. "And I remember punching you in the face," Jimmy added, unhappily, "and now I've pretty much worked out that I also punched the _Duke_ in the face."

"That's right, " Thomas said. He looked as if he were enjoying Jimmy's chagrin.

"Am I getting fired today?" Jimmy asked, as it occurred to him.

"No," Thomas said, "I've saved your hide." Jimmy saw amusement in his eyes, behind the mask of disapproval.

"You didn't have to do anything _too _terrible, I hope?" Jimmy asked, tipping Thomas a lascivious wink.

"You could at least _act_ as though you were concerned," Thomas said. "I might've made awful sacrifices for you."

"No, it's too late," Jimmy said, laughing. "I can't be jealous over the Duke, not now that I've seen him. He's _wretched_ looking."

Thomas was trying to keep a straight face. "He weren't always so bad," he told Jimmy, solemnly, but for some reason he said it in his working-class voice- _regular_ voice- and that made Jimmy go into quiet hysterics.

Jimmy bent over laughing, and Thomas turned in an anxious circle next to the bed, looking at Jimmy's modest (and now mostly unoccupied) bedroom.

"It really bothers you to be in here?" Jimmy asked, after he had composed himself. Thomas paused, looking at him and then away, back and away, and finally said: "Yes." Jimmy took a step towards Thomas, and Thomas cleared his throat. "You should really dust in here more often," He said to Jimmy, fixing his own cuffs. "It looks _disused_."

"It _is_ disused," Jimmy said, and slipped his arms around Thomas. "I'm very sorry."

"You should drink less," Thomas said, seriously, and Jimmy nodded. "I won't drink a drop at the party, you'll see," Jimmy promised, rashly, and kissed Thomas, as gently as he possibly could, on his split lip. "I _am _so very sorry," Jimmy murmured, and kissed Thomas again, more deliberately, running his tongue down and across the cut.

Thomas took a breath through his nose, his arms coming up, and he kissed Jimmy back, mindless of his wound_- _and Jimmy threaded his hands through Thomas's already-coiffed hair, drawing a murmur of protest. "Mm, yes," Jimmy said, and ran his hands down the back of Thomas's neck, along the lines of his shoulders, and under his arms, to come to rest, gently pressing against Thomas's abdomen. "What time is it?" Jimmy asked, forgetting his headache for a moment, but Thomas shook his head slowly _no_. "Time we should be getting to work," Thomas said- though his breath was a little quick, Jimmy noticed.

Jimmy nodded, but his hands skirted downwards, to caress the front of Thomas's trousers, and Thomas grabbed his wrists. "Later," Thomas said through his teeth, and Jimmy patted him smugly before removing his offending hands from the vicinity. "Later," Jimmy said, and waggled his eyebrows. "I hope I don't encounter the Duke."

"I hope so as well," Thomas said, and there was love in his face, and desire, and maybe still some vaguely righteous anger, and that faraway look he got when he was thinking about all the work he had to do- but there was something else, too. Jimmy squinted his eyes at Thomas.

_You're hiding something from me, _he thought, his glance moving over Thomas, as Thomas turned to the door. _I can tell._

"Did you say something?" Thomas asked, suspiciously, like a man who was catching on to a trick.

"Yes," Jimmy lied, and Thomas responded immediately, turning back to him. "I'm not hiding anything, Jimmy. It's like you said- I've been distracted."

"I _didn't_ say anything," Jimmy answered, and Thomas eyed him questioningly. "What?"

"I said I didn't _say_ anything," Jimmy answered. "I _thought_ that, but I didn't say it."

"But-" Thomas said, faintly, his voice bewildered, though the bewilderment did not translate to his face. "But you said that you-"

"I _said_ I said something, but I didn't," Jimmy replied, taking a step towards Thomas. He felt strangely excited. "Thomas," Jimmy said, as solemnly as he could, catching the other man by the shoulders- "you _heard_ what I _thought_." When Thomas stared at him blankly, Jimmy shook him lightly. "Thomas. You _heard _my _thoughts_. Do you know what this means? It's amazing!"

"No, I didn't hear what you thought," Thomas said, his words all running together. He turned quickly back to the door. "That's ridiculous," Thomas muttered, over his shoulder, and fumbled uncharacteristically with the bolt.

"You can't run from it," Jimmy said, feeling a wild sort of thrill take root in his chest. "Something's happening to us. _Things_ are happening again."

"No, they're not," Thomas said, like a man who was trying to convince only himself. "Nothing strange is going to happen. Not ever again. Everything is normal." With that, Thomas opened the door, almost stumbling, and then, straight-backed, he walked quickly away.

"We'll talk about it tonight!" Jimmy yelled after him, triumphantly- hurting his own head with the volume of his voice- and then he exited as well, nearly running into Awful Alfred, who looked at him with a detestable wide-eyed expression of amusement. "Why, James!" Alfred said, and grasped his hand, shaking it. Jimmy glared at him in return. "I didn't know _you_ were here," Jimmy lied, not caring how unpleasant he sounded.

"Isn't it so interesting, all of us being back here, together, for All Hallow's Eve?" Awful Alfred asked, walking with Jimmy down the stairs. _Go away_, Jimmy thought to him, but it did not appear that Awful Alfred was in danger of developing any kind of telepathy. "I don't know about you, but I hope _something_ happens," the valet went on, cracking his knuckles in the air above his own head in a manner that annoyed Jimmy completely.

"By the way," Awful Alfred asked in an undertone, "I hope you don't mind my saying, but I hope things have, shall we say, worked out favorably between yourself and the wonderful Mr. Barrow?"

Jimmy took a deep breath, remembering his almost daily avowal that he would at least make an attempt to _straighten up and fly right_, and resisted the urge to be extremely rude. "I don't know what you're talking about," Jimmy, evenly. "Excuse me, please."

"I'm sorry?" the valet asked, his amusement turning to concern, but Jimmy, his head aching with each step, walked abruptly away from him, into the servants hall.

"What time can we put our costumes on, Mr. Carson?" Regular Alfred was asking, as Jimmy slid into the hall. He sought out Thomas with his eyes and gave him a sweet look. Thomas looked back at him, and then away, with a secret smile pulling up his mouth.

"Not until directly before the party," Carson said, soundly supremely annoyed. "I hope that your costumes do not provide such distraction as to be detrimental to your ability to do your _jobs_."

"It's just a bit of fun, Mr. Carson," Thomas said, easily, and got little more than a brief (albeit glowering) look in reply. Jimmy tried to picture Thomas as he had been once- as a footman, or perhaps lower ranking still- and found that he could not.

"And we get to dance as well, don't we?" Regular Alfred, apparently unaware that he was skating on thin ice, asked.

"Yes," Mr. Carson said, "After the clock chimes midnight the servants will have a dance." His tone suggested that they speak no more of it.

"I hope they've all the fun games planned," Awful Alfred said. He had come in, shot an apologetic look at Jimmy, who pretended not to notice him- and was now occupying Jimmy's piano bench.

The hall was crowded with strangers, the servants of other houses, and a fat lady's maid had taken Jimmy's usual seat. Jimmy took the seat as near to Thomas as he could get, and heard Thomas say to O'Brien: "And what are your plans for the party?"

"To stay in my room," O'Brien answered.

"What's happened to your face, Thomas?" Carson asked.

"What?" Thomas asked, the image of confusion. The his hand flew up to his lip. "Oh, yes," Thomas said, shaking his head, as though he'd only just remembered it. "It was stupid, really. I was shaving, and I put the razor between my teeth for a moment-"

"Say no more," Carson said, waving a hand at him. Everyone around made expressions and noises of disgust.

_Can you hear what I'm thinking right now?_ Jimmy thought, as hard as he could, in Thomas's direction. But Thomas did not so much as glance at him.

"Alright, everybody," Carson said, rising to his feet, "let's get to work!"

Jimmy's day was madness. The musicians arrived, the caterers arrived, the extra help arrived, the guests trickled in, far too early- some of them needing a _room_ to change into their costumes in- the crepe streamers went up, elaborate garlands were hung, and, finally, the jack-o'-lanterns were brought out and lit. Candles, thousands of them, covered every extra surface with their particular ambiance. Then the guest started arriving in earnest, and Jimmy took his turn sneaking away to change into his 'Boudoir Mephisto' ensemble. He examined himself ruefully in the mirror. _Ridiculous_. But there was nothing to be done for it, and so he went upstairs, his slippered feet silent on the floor.

The party was enormous. People had arrived by train- Lady Rose's fashionable young London friends, mostly- it amused Jimmy to think of them riding next to regular folk in their elaborate costumes- and people streamed in constantly, in car after car. Thomas was somewhere, doing something, Jimmy didn't know what. He and Alfred ran back and forth, opening doors and adjusting the catered tables to Carson's specifications- until, finally, the bulk of the party had arrived, and Jimmy had only make occasional passes with the drinks, supplemented as the party was with waiters. He found time to drift through the crowd with his tray, listening to snatches of conversation.

"Sybil is our missing season," Lady Mary was telling her aunt. She was dressed in a white robe, with a crown of holly at her brow. It was the first time since Mr. Crawley's death that Jimmy had ever seen her out of her mourning clothes. Lady Mary had, however, the particular faculty of changing her white robe into something as solemn as black lace, she sipped her drink with an almost religious austerity. "Edith is Autumn- and Rose, is Spring, appropriately, but we saved Summer for Sybil. It was her favorite."

"How touching," Lady Rosamund said, although Jimmy couldn't tell if she meant it or not- her face seemed not to _ever_ change expression.

"Yes, I know," Lady Mary said. "Very disappointing. I had wanted to go as a spider woman, but they trampled all over my idea with their sentimentality."

Lady Edith was with her married lover- he was also a buccaneer, and a rather more expensively dressed one than Alfred- and each of them took a glass from Jimmy's tray. Jimmy had pushed his mask up- the eyeholes were in the wrong spots for _seeing_ out of- and, across the room, he saw Carson standing with a black-robed Death, who clutched a- yes- rusty scythe in one gloved hand. _If you can hear me, I freely admit that your costume is better than mine,_ Jimmy thought, in Death's direction, but he had no way of knowing if he was actually accomplishing anything.

Jimmy tuned on a dime to avoid the Duke, who he could see sitting down at a long table in the corner. The Duke had on no costume at all- though he was sporting a remarkable black eye. Jimmy wondered how Thomas had ever gotten the man to spare his job, much less lie about his injuries. _Maybe he's telling people he's dressed as a man who's been in a fight,_ Jimmy thought, refraining admirably from happiness at the idea.

In the worn silk pocket of his secondhand dressing gown, Jimmy could feel his deck of cards. They were tangible, in a way- they _weighed_ upon his mind- reminding him: practice, practice, practice.

"Practice," Jimmy said, and stopped to serve a young couple dressed as Eve and the Serpent. The costumes were all various degrees of conservative and risque. The Dowager, in a magnificent gown, was an admirable Queen Elizabeth. Near the orchestra Lord and Lady Grantham danced, dressed as Napoleon and Josephine, with their heads close together. For some reason, the tableau made Jimmy think suddenly of Thomas. _We can never dance together like that_, Jimmy thought, annoyed. _How stupid._

In the dining room, the tables had been pushed back, and people were playing games. Jimmy wound through there in his endless cycle- the main hall, the sitting room, the dining room, the billiards room, and then back to the caterers for more liquor.

Jimmy walked through the main hall again, passing close by Thomas, and thinking:

_"!Hey Thomas! !Can you hear me now?!"_

Jimmy thought he saw the Grim Reaper incline his head, but then, Thomas always looked at him, so it didn't prove anything.

In the dining room, the younger people were playing a game, all standing stock still on the large carpet. One girl- dressed as a princess or something, but wearing a conspicuous witches cap and a blindfold, was turned away from the room. Jimmy walked along the outskirts of the room, so as to not disrupt the fun. Next to him, a man dressed as Robin Hood let out a loud _meow_, and Jimmy almost laughed out loud. The girl stopped, and whirled around, making her way through her friends blindly.

The blindfolded girl was moving carefully towards them, and Jimmy held still, transfixed, as she bumped into him, and tapped him on the arm. "If you are the cat that sang the song," the princess said, in a lilting voice, "jump on my broom and we'll travel along."

"Unfortunately you've got the wrong man," Jimmy said, gravely, and the girl pushed up her blindfold, blinking at him. "Oh," She said, seeing his livery, "I'm sorry." Then she took a glass from his tray and wandered back across the room.

"Claudia!" One of her friends said, in an amused tone. "You've got to _keep _guessing!"

People were laughing. Jimmy moved through the smoky billiards room, where the conversation was rowdier and his tray was emptied more quickly. He caught sight of Awful Alfred, nodding his head at something Lord D'Abernon was instructing him about. The Ambassador wore a pith helmet and looked ready to go on safari. Awful Alfred was dressed as an Ottoman Emperor or some stupid thing. Atop the valet's dark head perched a fez with a gold tassle. Jimmy restrained himself from knocking it off as he passed by.

In the hall Sir Clements, the youngest and handsomest of Mary's suitors- dressed none-too-subtly as a knight valiant- was dancing with Lady Rose. Jimmy wondered if he'd had given up- Lady Mary had not been particularly encouraging of him, or the others that trailed after her.

Lady Mary herself was apparently trapped in a conversation with Lord Lloyd- something, Jimmy couldn't remember what. "No," She said, to Lord Lloyd's whispered question. "No. Not yet. Not for a while yet, I think." _That sounds like bad news, Lloyd_, Jimmy thought, and passed them by.

Carson was gone, ostensibly to prowl in other rooms, and Death waved his fingers at Jimmy, gesturing for him to come over. Jimmy obeyed him, gratefully. "Good evening to you, Mr. Barrow," he said, coming to stand next to Thomas, and Thomas lifted up his mask. "Good evening, James," Thomas said, his facing straight ahead.

"Great party, isn't it?" Jimmy asked, as a pair of skeletons danced past them in a dreamy waltz, paying no mind to what the little orchestra was actually playing.

"Mmm,"" Thomas said, noncomittally, resting his scythe for an instant against Jimmy so that he could pull his cloak away from his face. His hair was in disarray, but Jimmy elected not to tell him.

Thomas looked back at him, his eyes narrowing, and then reached up one hand to carefully smooth down his own hair.

"You _can_ hear me," Jimmy said, grinning. "You can, I _know_ it, so don't lie."

"No, I can't, and you're mad for thinking it," Thomas said, coolly. Jimmy's eyes strayed to the clock, keeping perfect time courtesy of himself, and saw that it was five minutes to midnight.

"You know," Jimmy said, indicating the room around them with a nod, "when I look at all _this_... I can only think of how things should be for _us_." Thomas gave him a deathly stare, but no-one could hear them and he knew it. Jimmy lowered his voice even further, and let his shoulder bump absently against Thomas's. "We should have a _life_. There are places where we can. I know you _want _it, too... to be together all the time..." Jimmy went on, thinking each phrase in his head clearly as he spoke it aloud. Perhaps that way he could hammer the point home doubly.

Beside him, Thomas closed his eyes for an instant, showing the smallest crack in his wall of composure. "Jimmy," he said, in a whisper, "don't-"

"Don't what?" Jimmy asked, smiling at the color that had risen to Thomas's cheeks. "What're you on about, hm?"

"Just..." Thomas trailed off, turning his head slightly, for a brief look at Jimmy.

The waiters were moving through the crowds in one last grand sweep, making sure everyone, even the servants, had a glass of cider or champagne. Thomas took one, but Jimmy declined, with a long suffering sigh. "None for _me_, thanks," Jimmy said, and Thomas snorted at him.

"Poor dear," Thomas said, taking a long drink of his champagne. Lord Grantham was calling for everyone to gather round, and suddenly Thomas and Jimmy were in the middle of a crush of guests who had flooded in from other rooms.

"-And thank all of you for coming here to celebrate with us," Lord Grantham was saying. "And a very Happy Hallowe'en!"

"Happy Hallowe'en!" Called out the partygoers, and Jimmy called it out, too, though he noticed Thomas did not. The clock began to strike twelve, and around them rose up a great cheer. People whooped and threw their masks. The lights were dimmed, leaving the room awash in candlelight and jack-o'-lantern faces, and the band stuck up a merry tune.

Thomas was helping himself to a second glass of champagne. "Care for a dance?" The fat lady's maid was asking Jimmy, and Jimmy laughed and spun away with her, always looking over her shoulder for Thomas.

After the lady's maid- a very pleasant Miss Antrim- was whirled away by Molesley, Jimmy danced with two of Lady Rose's friends, one after the other. Neither of them seemed to have any compunctions about flirting with a footman.

"My mother was in service," A drunken girl sporting a halo- Miss Anna Terry, or Tara Ferry, or something- was whispering into Jimmy's ear. Across the room Thomas was dancing with Mrs. Hughes, who looked most excellent in a peaked witch hat.

"That's nice," Jimmy said, and bowed to her neatly as the song ended, escaping before he could be asked to dance again.

He made it across the room as Thomas was draining his third glass of champagne. Jimmy had rarely seen Thomas drunk, but he was approaching it now. Thomas smiled at Jimmy, his face flushed, and Jimmy leaned in, to speak in his ear: "Come with me," Jimmy said, and Thomas nodded, smiling, and followed him without protest through the room, past the revelers and the ribbons of crepe paper that dragged through the air. Seeing the streamers buffeted up my the movements of the dancers gave Jimmy an involuntarily shiver of _déjà vu._

"Come along, then," Jimmy said, ducking down a hallway. The noise of the revelers diminished to a dull roar, and Thomas, walking carefully after Jimmy, paused, a vaguely apprehensive look on his face. "Wait-" He said, looking into Jimmy's eyes, "Where are we going?"

"Into the closet," Jimmy said, and Thomas's eyes widened. "_No,_ Jimmy-" he said, a little more loudly than he probably intended to. "That's a bad idea-"

"Shh. It's romantic," Jimmy said, and opened the door to the china closet- not the locked, important one, but the one for not-as-pretty dishes, ducking inside. "Remember when we came in here before? It was a long while ago..."

Thomas's face was extremely emotive when he had been drinking. Jimmy watched his expression change from one of disapproval- as he ducked into the little room to join Jimmy-to one of almost rapturous happiness. A rare smile- not the tight little secret-smiles that Thomas normally gave, but a _real_ grin, replete with teeth- spread across his face. His eyes had a dreamy, faraway look. "O'_course_ I remember," Thomas said, laying a hand against Jimmy's dressing gown. He had forgotten to close the door. Jimmy leaned out, past him, and carefully pulled it shut, cutting off the already-faint sounds of music and laughter coming from the main hall.

"This is where we kissed," Thomas said, simply, as though it had been the most memorable moment of his entire life. The sentiment made Jimmy's chest ache. "And-" Thomas went on, dropping his mask lacksidasically to the ground, "you- y'made me tell you I _loved_ you."

"Mmm. We've kissed in a bunch of places, though," Jimmy said, pushing his hands up underneath Thomas's makeshift cloak to to touch his lower back. Thomas closed his eyes at the feeling, seemingly unable to keep his appreciativeness off of his face. "Ah," Thomas said. "That was... the happiest I- no," Thomas broke off, shaking his head. "That's when I started to be happy," Thomas explained carefully, holding up his fingers as though he were making an important point in a lecture hall- "And, see, I've been happier _each_ day, ever since." At this Thomas stopped, and looked into Jimmy's face, his eyes wide and earnest and totally without artifice. The intensity of it- the way Thomas felt, and the way Jimmy could _see_ it, so clearly, when Thomas's couldn't keep his guard up- made Jimmy press his mouth to Thomas's, roughly. Thomas's arms came up, and he kissed Jimmy back with equal intensity.

_Can you hear me now? Because I want you, I want you-_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas made a little noise against Jimmy's lips. Jimmy bit Thomas on his bottom lip, and then felt the cut and stopped, guiltily. "I didn't mean to do that," Jimmy said, pulling back, and Thomas looked at him, confused. "Your lip," Jimmy elaborated.

"It's fine," Thomas said, pressing forward for another kiss, for once not waiting to take his cues on touching from Jimmy. His hands ran under Jimmy's dressing gown, tugging his shirt free of his trousers. "It hurt worst last week. I like this costume. I want to touch you-"

Jimmy laughed at Thomas's confused jumble of speech, and then took a long breath, feeling his heartbeat kick up when Thomas ran his hands over the bare skin of Jimmy's waist. "Wait," Jimmy said, drawing an unsteady breath- "_what_ hurt worse last week?"

"When you tried to sodomize me," Thomas whispered, and Jimmy was startled into laughter.

"It's okay, don't feel _bad_," Thomas said, reaching his hands out from under Jimmy's shirt, and holding Jimmy's face between the palms of his hands. Thomas's expression showed only the greatest concern, a drunkenly exaggerated concern, and his voice was sweet. "We'll do it again. And again, and again, and it will be perfect, like everything is. Perfect." He kissed Jimmy's face, once, and then again, very gently, and Jimmy looked at him in wonder. "You should be drunk all the time," Jimmy said, and Thomas raised an imperious eyebrow at him. "I'm not _drunk_," Thomas returned. "I'm just enjoying myself. You shouldn't talk, anyhow-"

He didn't get to finish his thought, though, because Jimmy pressed their mouths together, feeling lightheaded with sensation. Thomas was touching his chest, fingers skating up along skin, saying _"_I want to...uh..." He looked at Jimmy with hazy eyes. "This door doesn't lock."

"I want to try something I haven't done," Jimmy said, deciding he meant it even as the words were coming out of his mouth, and he thought _Guess what is it, Thomas._

Thomas ran his hands through his own hair. "I don't know. I can't guess. Um. Subtlety?"

Jimmy looked up at him. He felt frankly amazed, and amazement mingled with desire, making his head turn in slow somersaults. "You really can hear my thoughts, don't you? Tell me the truth."

"No," Thomas said, to one or both statements. His features appeared and disappeared in the gloom, and Jimmy pushed the cloak off of his shoulders, and began to unbutton his jacket. Thomas stood still, his eyes tightly shut, taking long, uneven breaths. Jimmy could see, now that his eyes had adjusted somewhat, the telltale signs of Thomas's desire- that band of color that burned across the center of his face, in a pretty line, giving everything away. Thomas reached out to undress Jimmy, but Jimmy pushed his hands away, and began to work on the buttons of Thomas's dress shirt. _He's so soused, I can't believe he's going along with this-_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas replied to the words that Jimmy had not spoken, "I'm not drunk, I said-" through lips pressed tight with arousal.

Finally Jimmy had all of his clothing unbuttoned, and Thomas stood before him, swaying slightly on his feet, his jacket still on his shoulders, with his chest exposed. Jimmy put the palms of his hands flat against Thomas's skin, and then trailed his hands down, his fingers raising gooseflesh on Thomas's torso in their wake. _Does that feel good?_ Jimmy thought, aiming his thoughts at Thomas, if such a thing were possible. _Do you like this?_

"Yes, _yes_, very nice, yes, I do-" Thomas said, and Jimmy took a deep breath. Looking into Thomas face, Jimmy very slowly lowered himself down onto his knees, to address perhaps his last reservation about _being_ with a man.

Jimmy had never done this. It wasn't that he hadn't thought about it, he reasoned, as he unbuckled Thomas's belt. He'd thought about it a _lot_- _obsessed_ about it, even, turning the act over and over in his mind, trying to figure out why it bothered him, or why it thrilled him. Especially after Thomas had first done it to him- in what Jimmy had imagined was a rather expert fashion. Jimmy had dreams, wild confused dreams that made him wake in Thomas's arms with his pulse racing and a throbbing erection- but he had always been trepidatious about it. It seemed so- so terribly _specific_, somehow, like the last taboo, when Jimmy had conquered his fear of everything else. _So sissy. So nancy. So bloody lavender._

Thomas was grabbing Jimmy's wrists with a concerned look. "You don't need to do that, I know it bothers you-" Thomas said, trying to lift Jimmy back onto his feet, but Jimmy pulled his hands away, and pushed Thomas's trousers down. Thomas was already hard. Jimmy could see the press of his erection against the last layer of his underclothes. _I don't feel that way- or at least not as badly as I want you,_ Jimmy thought. He pulled the fabric down, so that Thomas was undressed, from his throat to his knees. _Let me. I've thought about this for months. I always think about things before I do them._

"Liar," Thomas said, and Jimmy's heart skipped a beat. _You're amazing, Thomas_, he thought. _You're _magical_, you know._

"I-" Thomas broke off abruptly as Jimmy wrapped a hand around the base of his erection. "Oh, Jimmy," he said, quietly, and Jimmy flexed and unflexed his grip, taking his eyes off of Thomas's face, and leaning forward. _Here we go_, Jimmy thought, and pressed his lips experimentally against the head of Thomas's penis. Thomas made a strangled sound, and Jimmy leaned forward minutely, and pressed his tongue flat against the same spot he had kissed. _Hmm,_ Jimmy thought, no real mental articulation behind it, and traced his tongue against Thomas again, in a more elaborate trail. Thomas moaned above him. _I hope nobody walks through the hall and hears that_, Jimmy mused, silently- and looked up, in time to see Thomas press his left hand over his own face, covering his mouth. Thomas was slightly bent over, and Jimmy could feel that the muscles of Thomas's legs were shaking. Jimmy kept one hand on Thomas's erection, and gripped Thomas's thigh with his free hand- to steady himself or the other man, Jimmy wasn't sure.

"Augh," Thomas said, the sound muffled by his hands, as Jimmy moved his tongue again. _Not so bad_, Jimmy thought. The anxiety that he had felt was dissolving, replaced by a deep-seated lust that began low in his stomach and worked its way steadily upwards, making his face feel hot.

"Oh, _Jimmy_," Thomas said- his voice was muffled by his glove, but Jimmy could understand him- "Oh, Jimmy, ah, yes- that feels- so-_ah-_" One of Thomas's hands came down, to tangle in Jimmy's hair. _If you thrust, I swear I'll bite down,_ Jimmy thought. _No, I'm only joking. I would never- _

Above him, Thomas let out a hoarse laugh. _You hear me?_ Jimmy asked, in his mind, twisting his hand in counterpoint to the motions of his mouth. _You taste good,_ Jimmy thought, and sucked, lightly, on the tip of Thomas's penis. Thomas made a moaning sound, his hand against his face. Jimmy could feel Thomas fighting to keep his hips still, and the feeling- of power, maybe, or arousal- coursed through Jimmy's body, and his mind, and through the secret pockets of emotion in his chest, making him double his efforts.

_"-_yes," Thomas rasped out- "oh, yes- yes, I loveyou _so_, yes, _oh_, God- that's-_please_-"

_I love you, too,_ Jimmy said internally- smugly- and brought his hand down from Thomas's thigh, gripping Thomas's erection with his right hand, sucking on it gently with his mouth, and with his left hand drawing a line with his fingers up and down the underside of the shaft. _I am amazing at this_, Jimmy thought, headily, and Thomas let out a choking laugh that sounded like a sob. _Tell me you can hear me, _he commanded, silently- and Thomas, his hips bucking involuntarily foward, said, in a garbled voice- "-_yes_- I can hear you I feel so _close_ to you I can _hear _you oh Jimmy I _need_ you-"

Jimmy pushed Thomas's hips back, holding him in place with his left hand, and Thomas gasped, and lost himself completely, rocking back and forth, his speech uneven beyond all comprehension-

_What?_ Jimmy thought, not taking his mouth away, and Thomas grabbed Jimmy's hair painfully and forced his head back. Jimmy sat up, confused, and Thomas sank down to his knees, meeting Jimmy on the floor. Thomas did not seem to be able to open his eyes all the way- they appeared heavy-lidded, and his lips were swollen. Jimmy watched Thomas's erection, still slick, move up and down with the rapid breaths he took. _I made his body look that way._ Jimmy felt intensely possessive of the man before him._ I made him that aroused_. Thomas was so hard it looked painful. "What?" Jimmy asked him, when Thomas did not answer to his unspoken query.

"I'm going to- I can't-" Thomas said, and he seemed almost to not know where he was, so that when Jimmy reached out, Thomas leaned away for a second, his face twisted with effort. "_Wait-_" he said, pushing his hand against Jimmy. "It's so _much_-"

"It's fine, it's good, come here," Jimmy said, echoing a soothing refrain that he had learned from Thomas- and Thomas leaned against him, burying his face in Jimmy's shoulder, his body shaking. "Here," Jimmy said, and wrapped his hands around Thomas's hardon, feeling his own pulse spike as Thomas moaned against his neck, jerking his body forward into Jimmy's hands. "Yes," Jimmy said, thickly. Thomas gripped onto his arms, his fingers digging into Jimmy's shoulders painfully, and moved against him. "-yes," Thomas said, lifting his head up. "-_yes, oh-"_

Jimmy kissed Thomas's mouth, wanting to _fill_ him, wanting to be _one _with him- _wanting_ him- and Thomas, his face contorted, said- "_i'm going to-_"

"Yes, please," Jimmy said, and pressed his teeth into Thomas's split lip. Thomas moaned as Jimmy bit down, and then, shuddering, Thomas hissed: _"-_ah,_ please, I _can't_-"_ and came.

"Yes," Jimmy muttered, and kissed Thomas again. It was too much, as Thomas had said.

"Ah," Thomas said, quietly. "Ah, _god_, Jimmy." His hips rocked against Jimmy's hands for a moment longer, before he slumped back, sitting on the ground.

Jimmy took out if his pocket the red handkerchief that he had been wearing to spruce up his dressing gown. Carefully he wiped his hands off. Thomas was sitting with his head in his hands and his knees against his chest, taking deep breaths. Gradually he seemed to come back to awareness- he looked up at Jimmy, and Jimmy raised an eyebrow at him. _How'd I do?_

"I won't answer that, not unless you say it aloud," Thomas said, but his voice was shaking and his eyes were bright.

"How'd I do?" Jimmy asked, putting his hands atop Thomas's knees, and Thomas gave him a tender sort of look. "That," Thomas said, his voice still slurry from alcohol, "was the best thing that's ever happened to me. In my whole life, maybe."

Jimmy laughed. "I can't have been as good as your other _five_ lovers, all of whom probably had _practice._"

Thomas closed his eyes for a minute, and smoothed back his dark hair with one trembling hand. "Everything is the best with you, Jimmy," he said, in perfect seriousness.

_I hope I was much better than the Duke_, Jimmy thought, pleased, and Thomas nodded in agreement to his thought. "Everything is better with you- ah, because I love you," Thomas elaborated (he wouldn't have elaborated so if he were sober), and then his eyes widened, and he crawled towards Jimmy with a startled look. "I'm sorry," Thomas said, "I forgot-" and he cupped one hand against Jimmy's trousers, pressing down on his erection. Jimmy took a breath, fighting off the overwhelming voice in his head that said _please, more_- and pushed Thomas's hand away. "I think we've been away a while," Jimmy managed, "so we should go- _ah_- back, but you owe me one for later and no mistake." _If I can survive until then_, he added to himself, and Thomas snickered. Thomas seemed almost recovered- still flushed, and still a bit shaky, but that could be from the drink. Jimmy stood up first, wincing at his state of arousal, and offered his hand to Thomas, who took it and rose to his feet unsteadily.

Jimmy watched, not helping, as Thomas buttoned up his shirt. Thomas kept missing the buttons, and then dragging his fingers along his chest and the edge of his shirt, to find them again. Jimmy felt his jaw clench involuntarily at the sight. Thomas disappearing back _into _clothes, for some reason, was nearly as erotic as Thomas stripping _out_ of clothes.

"Thank you," Thomas said, smiling at him, and Jimmy, though his thoughts were distracted by lust, remembered a very important point he had been trying to make. "You _can_ hear me," Jimmy accused, as his hands strayed over to Thomas, unbidden. He gripped Thomas around the waist as Thomas looked over his shoulder, probably searching for a response that did not include admitting to his new telepathic abilities.

"You _can_, confess," Jimmy said, and Thomas did not exactly admit it- but he did incline his head towards Jimmy with a searching look. After a pause, Thomas asked him- "Can _you_ hear what _I'm_ thinking?"

Jimmy shook his head _no_. "Believe me, I've been _trying_," Jimmy said, his answer drawing a laugh from Thomas. "But nothing. Not a whisper. I thought maybe it was the spirits coming back or something, but I don't know why it's only you-"

Thomas was shaking his head, indicating his unwillingness to discuss the matter any further. "The party," Thomas said, suddenly remembering his responsibilities, and ducking away. "Fine, if you _refuse _to discuss it," Jimmy said rolling his eyes. "Let's go back before I have a change of heart and let you ravage me." Jimmy sighed, as Thomas refastened his cloak. "It's very _hard_ to be the responsible one."

Thomas wasn't so intoxicated as to let that pass. "Yes, it is," he said, pointedly, and they both gave each other a last once over with their eyes and hands, before exiting the closet.

_You've left me in a state, _Jimmy thought, as they walked back into the hall. It was half-past midnight, but the party was still roaring away, now with the added influx of the servants.

The band- (at this time of the evening, the musicians had certainly devolved from an orchestra into a band)- was playing a upbeat tune, and dancers spun in merry circles or quiet couples, all of the classes commingling. By the piano a woman laughed hysterically, while a young man repeatedly told her to be quiet, laughing himself. Thomas had fallen behind Jimmy, so that they would not be seen entering quite together.

Pagliacci passed by on Jimmy's right with the Queen of Hearts, and then two girls in white flowing garments waved to Jimmy, and he blinked at them for a moment, his mind still elsewhere, before realizing that the spectres were Ivy and Daisy.

"We got to come up for the party!" Daisy said, excitedly, and Ivy gave Jimmy her nicest smile. "You both look wonderful!" Jimmy said, feeling magnanimous. "You have the best costumes of anyone here!"

"Oh, go on," Ivy said, laughing, but Daisy nodded. "I think so, too," She told Jimmy, looking around. "I can't believe nobody else thought to go as ghosts!"

"What?!" Jimmy asked, over the din of the music.

"I said I can't believe that nobody dressed as spirits!" Daisy yelled.

"Oh," Jimmy said, nodding. "Right. I agree."

"And what are you?" Ivy asked.

"A happy man, Ivy," Jimmy said. "Who wants a dance?"

Over Daisy's shoulder, Jimmy watched Thomas skirt along the chairs that lined the edges of the hall, looking for his scythe. It was really very funny, especially as Jimmy remembered he had left it resting up against a wall somewhere in the hallway that housed the wonderful china closet.

He and Ivy danced next, swaying next to other people who had pushed up close to the band, and Claudia- who had tugged his sleeve in the dining room- twirled past him with Lord Lloyd-something. To his left, Alfred, his pirate hat making him inhumanly tall, bent in half to dance with Miss Antrim.

Anna and Bates sat together, their feet touching, wearing identical bandit masks but otherwise dressed regularly, and Jimmy's eyes moved over them. At the far wall, Jimmy could see Awful Alfred taking to the Duke. _Of course they would find each other, _Jimmy thought, and stifled a laugh. "What?" Ivy asked, and Jimmy tore his eyes away from the pair. "I just can't believe that Mr. Branson came as a chauffeur, is all," He said, and Ivy giggled.

The dance ended, and Jimmy passed Ivy off to a gratified-looking Alfred- and made his way across the room, to where Thomas was.

"Hello, stranger," Jimmy said, and Thomas glanced over at him, and then straightened up. "Have you seen my scythe?" Thomas asked. _It's in the hall_, Jimmy thought, looking at Thomas as neutrally as he could manage.

"Hmm?" Thomas asked. "I didn't make that out."

_!THE HALL! _Jimmy imagined himself _shouting_, and Thomas bobbed his head back a little, blinking. "No need to yell," Thomas said, rubbing at his temples.

"Thomas, this is-" Jimmy paused, restraining himself from grabbing the other man. "This is really something," Jimmy said, weakly. Being so close to Thomas made his body ache. _I want to go upstairs_, he thought, picturing Thomas's bed. _Their_ bed.

"We have to do a little work before that can happen," Thomas said, lightly, but the look he gave Jimmy felt heavy indeed. Jimmy pointed, quickly, so that only Thomas could see, towards Awful Alfred and the Duke, still locked in a conversation that neither seemed eager to end.

"Did you see that?" Jimmy asked. "How you people manage to find one another I will never know."

Thomas snorted at Jimmy. "Right. Anyway, they didn't," Thomas added, smirking, "I did that."

"What?" Jimmy asked. "How?"

Thomas lifted another glass of champagne from a waiter, with the dexterity of a pickpocket. "You're quite graceful sometimes, y'know," Jimmy said, affectionately.

"Save it for later, James," Thomas said, tipping his glass back.

"Is this how you're dealing with your telepathy?" Jimmy asked. "By getting good and tight and pretending it's not happening?"

"I told Fred that the Duke was in need of a valet," Thomas said, answering his earlier question. "I don't know why it did it. It's a lie, anyhow. I doubt the Duke can afford a valet."

"He's lost his dukely fortune?" Jimmy asked, trying not to feel overly pleased.

"Every cent, just about," Thomas said, nodding.

"And _Fred_ is looking for work?" Jimmy asked.

"He hates Germany," Thomas replied. "But that's not exactly why he went to speak with the Duke."

"Ah," Jimmy said, uneasily. The ways of people like... _that _still made in uncomfortable sometimes, though he (mostly) tried to recognize the hypocrisy of his bias. _Remember, Thomas is like that_, Jimmy reminded himself, firmly. _And so it can't really be too bad._

"And yourself," Thomas said, lowly.

"Well, I _know_ that," Jimmy said. "It's just old prejudices- sometimes they're hard to, um, uproot or something." _Especially if you're trying to uproot them for people you hate. _

Beside him came Thomas's soft laugh.

The band began playing _I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise, _and Jimmy's foot tapped to the music. _I wish we could dance together,_ he thought, and Thomas nodded- in agreement or comprehension, Jimmy thought, but he couldn't tell which.

"I like this song," Jimmy said, and sang along: "_It's madness, to be always sitting around in sadness- when you could be learning the steps of gladness_-"

He stopped singing, because the look that Thomas gave him made him forget the words.

The guests finally began to leave or go to bed, and Jimmy stopped being a guest and became a servant once more, helping people to their coats and the door. When he got downstairs, he found the party continuing still- the remnants of the champagne had been brought to the servants hall, and music and laughter floated out, a replica in miniature of what had gone on upstairs.

Someone had brought party favors down, too, and people pulled last year's Christmas crackers, laughing, and brushed streamers off of the table. Thomas was already seated, smoking. _I'll bet you were dying for a cigarette, especially after what we did,_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas glanced up at him quickly, meeting his eyes.

O'Brien was not sitting with Thomas- nor had she been in evidence at any time during the evening. Jimmy imagined her secreted away in her room, probably terrified, seeing spirits in every corner. Awful Alfred the seat-stealer wasn't present, and so Jimmy was able to take his rightful place at the piano bench.

"Have a cracker, Jimmy!" Regular Alfred said, and tossed him one, across the room. Jimmy caught it neatly, and leaned towards the table, tapping Thomas on the back.

"Care for a pull, Mr. Barrow?" Jimmy asked, as Thomas turned around- and Thomas gave him a flat look, before grasping one end.

"Hah!" Jimmy said, as the cracker exploded with a pop, and tore his eyes away from Thomas, to make sure he got the paper hat and the note first. He put the hat on, tipping Thomas a jaunty wink, and then unfolded his fortune. It read:

_You must remember to practice._

Jimmy stared at the paper, feeling his skin prickle, and then looked up. Thomas had caught some of his concern- from looking at him or listening to his thoughts, Jimmy wasn't sure- and leaned forward, holding out his hand. Jimmy handed him the slip of paper silently, and Thomas turned it over, reading it aloud. "Can a match box?" Thomas said, looking up at Jimmy questioningly. "No, but a tin can." He handed the paper back to Jimmy, who took it, and read the text:

_Can a match box? No, but a tin can!_

"It's just a joke," Thomas said.

"But I-" Jimmy stopped, and folded the paper up, putting it into his pocket. "Nevermind," Jimmy said, after a beat, and turned away from Thomas, to play the piano.

It took forever for everyone to go to sleep. Jimmy played piano and waited, for a long time. He kept his back away from the room, pleased to have an excuse not to interact with anyone.

"In a way, I feel let down," Ivy said. "Even though it was scary, when the spirits came before. They moved everything around in our room, remember?"

"Yeah, but just on your side," Daisy answered. "Then later my pictures kept floating off of their hooks, but yours were all normal."

"I wanted to see 'em again, too," Alfred was saying. Jimmy switched into Chopin- Thomas's favorite- hoping it would lull everybody a bit and make them all go off to bed.

"Now, let's not make rash wishes," Mrs. Hughes was saying. Behind her, Mrs. Patmore was laughing at something someone else had said. Sir Clement's valet, August, was flirting shamelessly with one of the maids- Jimmy could hear them murmuring to his left.

_Let's go upstairs. Sod waiting. They're all drunk and they're taking forever, _Jimmy thought, wondering if Thomas could hear him. _I mean it, Thomas. Go on, make your excuses and I'll wait a respectable amount of time to join you._

Thomas did not budge from the chair where he sat, not partaking in the festivities, reading the paper. He did cough once, lightly. Jimmy took _that _to mean 'not a chance'.

_Please_, Jimmy tried, his fingers flying over the keys, turning the Chopin into _I'll Build a Stairway to Paradise_.

_We could build our own 'Stairway to Paradise', _Jimmy thought, almost laughing aloud at how ludicrous he was being. _If you just go up to our damned room, that is._

Thomas still did not move, though he did cough again, politely.

"And I'm just three neighborhoods over from you- imagine, we could have run into each other at any point in our childhoods! How strange that we never-" That was August, the valet. He was quite eloquent. The maid seemed to be completely under his spell- she scarcely even drew breath, but to listen to him.

_Please, Thomas, I'm still in quite a state, you know, _Jimmy tried, thinking that a play for sympathy might have a better chance of success than trying to strong-arm Thomas into giving him his way- and, miracle of miracles, Thomas was rising in his chair, putting out his cigarette- Thomas was making his excuses to everybody, and Jimmy played a little bit of the 'Ode to Joy' melody, just to underline how pleased he was.

Jimmy played three more songs, forcing himself to do it right and not rush through them- and then got up, slipping out of the hall. The gaiety went on behind him, and he made his way up the stairs to the door of Thomas's room.

Jimmy paused, bolting the door behind himself with the ease that came from eight months' practice. Thomas was not smoking, and he was not in his pyjamas. Rather, he sat upright on the cot, the coverlet pulled up to his waist. The flush of alcohol had faded from his cheeks, but his eyes were dark, and he was shirtless, treating Jimmy to the sight of his bare chest.

"I could feel you," Thomas said, as if he begruded each word that moved past his lips. "I could feel what you _felt_. I can feel how- how, ah, you _want_ me."

"You can?" Jimmy asked. Thomas was studying him as though he had never truly _seen_ him before, and all of a sudden Jimmy felt as if he were stripped bare. "Can you hear _everything_ I think?"

Thomas shook his head. "No. Not-" he broke off, still looking at Jimmy fixedly.

"Not _yet_, that's what you were going to say," Jimmy said, taking a step closer to the bed.

Thomas ignored this last, pinning Jimmy with his eyes. "Come here," Thomas said, and made a pulling motion with his hands. Jimmy pulled off his ratty robe, tossing his mask onto the desk beside Thomas's. "Come here," Thomas said, again, his voice low and insistent.

Jimmy pulled back the covelet- Thomas looked up at him, unmoving- and he discovered that Thomas was totally unclothed, and quite aroused. Jimmy swallowed, feeling, even after these many months, some kind of self-consciousness. It was rare for Thomas to be so forward, and it left Jimmy feeling bashful, like some ridiculous schoolgirl. Thomas stared up at him, his gaze unchanging, and Jimmy shivered at the expression on his face. "Take your clothes off," Thomas said.

"Let me get into the bed first, it's cold in here," Jimmy said, and climbed almost on top of Thomas, brushing up against Thomas's erection. Thomas pulled the coverlet over them, and then pressed his hands to Jimmy's face, kissing him deeply, until Jimmy had to lean away to get some air.

"Ah, _uhm_, okay, wait," Jimmy said, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Jimmy could not tell if he felt more parts nervous or excited, and he didn't care. If telepathy was going to make Thomas act like _this_, then by God, Jimmy _loved_ telepathy.

Thomas was roughly divesting him of his red pyjama shirt, and Jimmy moved his shoulders to allow him to complete the task, and then he rolled to the side to kick off his pants, and threw them across the room. Thomas sat up again, his back pressed against the headboard. "Come here," he said, and pulled Jimmy back against him, so that Jimmy sat upright as well, with his back against Thomas's chest.

Jimmy's heart was pounding harder than he would have thought possible without injury, and Thomas kissed the side of his neck, running his hands- with the fascinatingly different sensations they brought- one rough, one smooth- down Jimmy's abdomen. Jimmy took a deep breath. In this position it was easy to remember that Thomas had him trumped in height and size and weight, that Thomas was stronger, that Thomas might even win in a fight, that Thomas probably _always_ felt like this about Jimmy, wanted him like this, and was fighting to keep control of himself, to hold back. Jimmy remembered when he had not hidden it so well, before they were ever lovers.

"I'm sorry," Thomas said, pulling his mouth away, to speak in Jimmy's ear. He did not sound sorry. His voice was low with lust. "I'm sorry that I still make you nervous. I would never hurt you, Jimmy."

"Don't be _sorry_," Jimmy said, turning his neck so that he could look, for an instant, at Thomas. "If you can feel _that _then you can feel how much I want it. I want you to be as you really are. I like you best that way, even if I get a bit..." Jimmy paused, searching for another way to put it, and then thought of something quite clever. "It's the _ideas _of things that bother me, not the _actualities_." Jimmy congratulated himself on his own eloquence, and rested his back against Thomas again, relaxing a little. _It does feel nice, to be held like this by you,_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas kissed the top of his head.

"Alright?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy nodded. "Alright." Thomas's hands started moving over his body again, and Jimmy drew a shuddering breath.

"Hmm." Thomas said, touching the muscles of Jimmy's chest. His fingers moved lower, dragging along Jimmy's body, and he felt sparks flare up inside him- all of the desire that he had been forced to quell so that they could get on with the stupid party.

"Now is the time for all good men to come to the aid of the party," Jimmy said, laughing a bit at himself for how fraught he was. Thomas pressed his lips to Jimmy's ear, and reached his hands down, touching Jimmy's thighs. Jimmy leaned in, a little, feeling the press of Thomas's erection against his back. "That feels good," Jimmy said, pressing against him a bit more firmly, until he got Thomas to make a soft sound- barely a sound at all, so quickly did he cut it off.

_Touch me, please. I don't want to have to say it out loud._ Jimmy didn't know if Thomas could always get the exact phrases he thought, or only vague ideas, but Thomas reached his hand down further, caressing Jimmy's thighs, and Jimmy tried to make himself stay still. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and Jimmy wondered if that was because he didn't have the distraction of touching Thomas, of losing himself in Thomas's pleasure. _We lose ourselves in each other, but right now I can't and it makes me afraid, _Jimmy thought.

"Everyone's afraid to be vulnerable," Thomas said, kissing Jimmy's ear in between whispers. "Makes sense, too. Trusting somebody usually comes back to haunt you."

Jimmy felt bad for Thomas, that _that_ was what he had gotten out of life, so far- and yet he could also see the truth it in, how Thomas was partially right. "We trust each other, though," Jimmy said. "I trust you." _Look at all the things I trust you with_.

Jimmy could feel Thomas's heart beating behind him- so comforting even as it scared him- so universal- the compass by which Jimmy lived his life. The rhythm of music. From the vanity his metronome ticked in the same ceaseless beat.

"Thank you," Thomas said. His voice was hitching. _You feel what I feel_? Jimmy asked, in his mind. _You feel what I feel- _

"Yes," Thomas said, quietly, and wrapped both his hands around Jimmy's erection. "_Ah_!" Jimmy hissed, snapped out of his thoughts, as Thomas touched him. Jimmy felt the roughness of Thomas's left palm and the softness of his right, both against the skin of his penis, and his hips moved against Thomas's hands, trying to gain purchase or manufacture even more friction.

"Ahh- ah, _shite_," Jimmy said, fighting to keep self control. It was extremely difficult. All he could see were Thomas's arms, very pale against his own skin- and Thomas's hands, moving up and down around him. Jimmy closed his eyes to shut out the sight. The blackness behind his eyelids swam with sparks, and his body throbbed with each beat of his heart- _Thomas's _heart- he couldn't tell which, it didn't matter-

"Don't-" Thomas was speaking again, and Jimmy tried to listen to him, but the sensation was too intense-

"Don't fight it, let go, oh, God, that's right that's-"

_That feels so good so good oh Thomas yes please do it yes I-_

_"Yes _please do it _yes _I-"Thomas said, whispering into Jimmy's ear an echo of Jimmy's own thoughts. With his hands Thomas increased the pace he had set, making Jimmy arch forward, moaning. _Don't do that shite so embarrassing he can see you and you can't see him-_ Jimmy thought, but still his hips bucked upwards into Thomas's touch.

"It's not embarrassing," Thomas muttered, his voice pouring over Jimmy like it was molten, making him burn and ache. "It's beautiful," Thomas said.

"Hmmm- _ah_, _god_," Jimmy said, and bit down on the knuckles of his hand, in case anybody was passing through the hallway. He rubbed against Thomas, forward and back, from Thomas's palms to Thomas's erection. "Ah- Thomas- _ah- _I- I'm going to-" Jimmy tried to make himself comprehensible, but Thomas only pulled him back more tightly, and Jimmy was _trapped_- he couldn't get away, the sensation was everywhere-

"Please," Thomas said, at the exact second that Jimmy thought _P__lease_, desperately, and he knew he couldn't last any longer, and Thomas was touching him and it was too much-

"Oh, oh, oh _please Godyes-"_ Jimmy said, and came. Consciousness blurred out for a second, what shreds of rational thought he'd had left were lost, and he was adrift in sensation, bliss, relief.

Thomas was touching his hair. Jimmy laid back against him, perfectly happy, and safe, and warm, and _loved_, and all of that silly sentimental stuff- and then he remembered- or _felt_- the state that Thomas was in.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jimmy said, slowly. "Poor you." Thomas didn't answer him, just lay with his arms around Jimmy, taking hitching breaths, and Jimmy slowly moved against him, so that Thomas moaned.

Jimmy, who had totally sunk down against the other man, turned around, so that they were face to face, and stroked his hands down Thomas's hardon.

Thomas looked at him, his eyes dark and his mouth tight. He opened his lips, as if to speak, but then Jimmy squeezed his erection and Thomas only made a choked sound, closing his eyes, his forehead creased, as if in concentration.

"Yes," Jimmy said, feeling much more in control of the world now that they were face to face.

"_Ah_- yes, _yes_-" Thomas gasped, and then he came- _right _away- and Jimmy looked into his eyes, at his blown-out pupils, and kissed him on his lips, not taking his hand away until the last aftershocks had trembled through Thomas's body. _You _can_ feel what I feel_, Jimmy thought, amazed. _We feel it together._

They lay for a while without moving, and eventually Jimmy rolled over, into the most comfortable position they could manage. "I would give _empires _for a _real_ bed," Jimmy said, woefully. He was pleased to find that his voice had returned to normal. Jimmy could pretend with ease that he hadn't been so _undone_ as he had, a few minutes before. If he could actually get anything past Telepathic Thomas, that was.

"Empires for a real bed, and entire worlds for the freedom to sleep next to you in it. Without any questions asked," Jimmy elaborated, when Thomas didn't reply.

"...Well," Thomas said sleepily, "I suppose if you wanted to commit to posing as a woman for the rest of your natural life-"

Jimmy elbowed him in the ribs, and Thomas chuckled, before reaching over Jimmy for a cigarette. "Mmm, give me one," Jimmy said, and Thomas obliged.

"We can do that thing you want this weekend," Thomas said, suddenly. "I owe you one for that."

"Owe me for what?" Jimmy asked.

"_That_," Thomas said. Thomas's smile was a bit askew- probably hung wrongly on his face by all the champagne he had imbibed. "That. Just now. _That._"

"Oh, _that_," Jimmy said, feeling embarrassed. _Could we just forget about that? _

"That was nothing. No thanks required," Jimmy said quickly, wondering if he could cover up his thoughts with his words.

"Oh. So you don't want to give it another go, sodomizing me?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well," Jimmy allowed, laughing at Thomas's forwardness- he _loved_ Drunk Thomas- "I didn't say _that_." Jimmy paused, frowning, and then pointed his cigarette accusatorily at Thomas. Ashes fell off of it onto the cot, and Thomas made a noise of irritation, and began to sweep the coverlet with his hand. Jimmy ignored that, still fixing his gaze to the other man. "You know," Jimmy said, waiting until Thomas looked back at him, "I need you to tell me something. Am I better for that- for _doing_ that with- than the Duke?" _I'd better be,_ Jimmy added, internally.

"For...?"

"Y'know..." Jimmy said, waving his hands around. _Being inside of_, He added, mentally. The phrase- even when he had only thought it- gave Jimmy a little shiver because of the images it called up. _Oh,_ _Thomas-_

"Hmph," Thomas snorted, his lips turning up into a teasing smile. "I don't know. I never did that to the Duke."

"What?" Jimmy asked, confused. "You said you were _lovers_-"

"That we were. But-" Thomas flicked his cigarette up over Jimmy, into the ashtray."But I never did that to him. Wasn't his cup of tea, as you'd say."

"But you-" Jimmy broke off. "_Oh_," Jimmy said, after a second, feeling idiotic. "You mean...he- did that to _you_?"

Thomas nodded, leaning back against the pillows.

"Oh," Jimmy said, sarcastically. "Well. I guess there's no point asking you if I'm better at doing _that _than him, since I'd bet all I have that you at least let the _Duke _do it to you more than _once_."

Jimmy felt woefully inadequate. It must have showed, on his face or in his thoughts- because Thomas stopped smirking, and touched his shoulder. "This weekend," Thomas said, and kissed Jimmy's cheek. "Don't be sore."

"An apt choice of words," Jimmy sniped. "You know, if you'd _corrected_ me instead of just laying back and thinking of _England, _maybe it wouldn't have been so _sore_."

Thomas smirked again, but he laid his head close to Jimmy's, and pressed their mouths together. "Mm," Jimmy said, and ruffled Thomas's hair. "Don't change the subject. If you had corrected me-"

"I didn't want to correct you when you were having such a good _time_," Thomas said, wickedly, and Jimmy punched him, and then leaned back, hiding his face in mock shame.

He peered out from between his hands to find that Thomas had started to drift off.

"I'm done in," Thomas murmured, when Jimmy looked at him. "Come here," Thomas said, opening his arms. "I'm already here," Jimmy said, "nowhere else to go on this bloody tiny bed-" but he moved closer to Thomas anyways.

"Happy Hallowe'en," Jimmy said, against Thomas's chest, and Thomas made a derisive sound. "No spirits, though," Jimmy added. "Too bad."

"Right, sure..." Thomas whispered, and Jimmy heard his breathing even out. Jimmy sat up, looking at Thomas's drawn face. When he moved away, Thomas frowned, slightly, and Jimmy touched his forehead until Thomas wore a placid look once more. "It was great, though," Jimmy whispered, pushing a lock of hair out of Thomas's eyes.

Jimmy wanted to lay back down and sleep- but he remembered the commandment handed to him, down out of his dreams- and the slip of paper from the party favour- and instead he forced himself out of the bed, and dressed in his ridiculous crimson pyajmas. He pulled the slip of paper out of his dressing gown, and, unfolding it, read it again- but it still said _Can a match box? No, but a tin can! _-and Jimmy put it away in the desk. "Practice, practice, practice," Jimmy muttered, and took out his deck of cards.

* * *

Thomas dreamed of a ballroom, far grander than most he had ever seen, with arched and vaulted ceilings that dropped lower, lower, lower- until he was all alone, in a low room, with solemn dancers spinning around him. From the stage, Jimmy announced- "I will now saw the vicar in _half! _And if he's very polite, I'll put him back together again afterwards!"

The dancers all stopped moving, and laughed at the same time, breaking into a round of applause. Something about it made Thomas afraid, and he pushed through the crowd, towards the stage.

"And for my next trick," Jimmy said, all of a sudden leaning close towards him, his eyes turned up- he hadn't been on stage after all, but on the dance floor, with Thomas- "for my next trick I will win _all_ of this money," Jimmy said, raising his hands- Thomas saw that he wore a pair of spotless white gloves, even more pristine than their uniforms, more pristine than seemed possible. Jimmy's hands glowed brilliantly, and his eyes glowed, and he spun Thomas around.

"See?" Jimmy asked, in his ear, and Thomas _did_ see. The crowd was gone, and they stood in a vault. Gold coins shone back at them, and treasures, and all the riches Thomas could ever have imagined- there were pirate's chests that looked like something out of a picture book, overflowing with doubloons, and crowns, and rings, and gems. Jewels and stacks of bills towered over the pair of them, and Jimmy walked towards it- towards the magnificent vision- with his arms outstretched.

"We can have the life we _want_," Jimmy said, and turned back to Thomas, his grin triumphant. But then his expression changed, his face seeming to cave in on itself- and Jimmy staggered forward, clutching at Thomas, who caught him, and sunk with him, to the floor. Jimmy was dead weight, and Thomas knelt over him- and gasped in horror. Blood was seeping through Jimmy''s white shirtfront. "Aaaahh-" Jimmy hissed, and clutched at his side, his face grey.

"I have to dress the wound," Thomas said, fighting back panic with the tools of his training, and Jimmy clutched at him- but then Thomas stood alone, on a dark cobblestone street, with rain pouring down on him-

"_Jimmy! _Jimmy!" Thomas shouted- no, he wasn't shouting, he was _screaming_, in real terror, and he took off running, his steps echoing against the buildings- _"Jimmy!" _Thomas screamed, again, tasting blood in the back of his throat- was it blood in _his_ throat or Jimmy's? He couldn't tell-

The street stretched out, forever on, and then he felt a pair of lips against his cheek- a whisper in his ear-

_"You must be of strong heart-"_

But when Thomas turned around, to catch Jimmy, to dress his wounds, he found that Jimmy had already vanished-

* * *

Thomas forgot the finer points of his nightmare upon waking, and roused with three things: a headache, a desire for a cigarette, and the profoundly strange feeling of not being alone in his own mind. Then he realized, with a start, that Jimmy was not in bed. _Back to his own room_, Thomas thought, unhappily, _for the second night in a row- _but no, it wasn't true- Jimmy was sleeping in the chair. His arms were on the desk- he had fallen forward onto it in sleep, cradling his head in his hands. Underneath Jimmy cards littered the table and the floor.

Thomas stood up, checking the time and pulling on his pyjamas- and then he went over to Jimmy, touching him gently on the arm. "Mmmmph," Jimmy said, and sat up blearily.

"Good morning," Thomas said, in an undertone.

"Good morning. Ach, my _neck_," Jimmy said. A card, caught in the cloth of his dressing gown, fell to the ground, and Jimmy blinked at Thomas. "I fell asleep practicing," Jimmy said. _Look at his face. He thinks I've gone mad, and yet he's the one hearing voices,_ Jimmy thought. It was as if he'd spoken it aloud- even clearer than it had been the previous night, when they had been together-

Thomas remembered the night before at the same time as Jimmy- he _felt_ Jimmy's remembering. Jimmy's thoughts were a swirl, but Thomas felt ripples of desire and secret dark pockets of shame brush against his own mind. _God, Thomas, if you can hear me, just don't bring up last night, _Jimmy thought. _I'm embarrassed._

The entire thing took perhaps three seconds, and then Jimmy, shaking his head determinedly, began to gather his cards up. "I'm getting better," Jimmy said, and collected the rest of his cards, looking into Thomas's eyes with his challenging stare. Thomas had always thought that look meant '_Go ahead, I dare you-'_ and, as it turned out- now that Thomas was apparently _clairvoyant_- it did mean that.

_Go on, just _watch _this. _Thomas heard Jimmy's voice- or thoughts- again. He was going to start having to read Jimmy's lips all of the time to see if what he heard was actually being _said. _The idea of that- of not being able to differentiate between reality and his own- truths, or madness, or whatever it was- made Thomas feel as though he were tumbling over a precipice, struggling desperately to find a handhold.

"Here, shuffle those _really_ well," Jimmy said, and Thomas did as he was told, although even disregarding his injured hand he had less talent for cards than Jimmy did.

"Yes, that's good," Jimmy said, after a few moments. "Watch this," Jimmy commanded. "Hold up a card- don't show me what it is."

Thomas stared at Jimmy- but Jimmy only glared at up him, until Thomas relented, and picked a card off of the bottom of the deck, and held it in the air.

It was the eight of spades- and Thomas looked at it, while Jimmy looked at the back of the card like he was trying to read the world's smallest encyclopedia.

"It's... the..." Jimmy paused, rubbing his eyes, and stared again. "It's the four of clubs!"

Thomas shook his head, flipping the card around.

"Damn!" Jimmy said, but he didn't look at all disheartened.

"Why, exactly, are we doing this?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy waved him. off. "Another," Jimmy said, "do another." Thomas, rolling his eyes, picked another card from the bottom of the deck.

"It's the-" Jimmy broke off, squinting. Thomas registered the face of the card- it was the two of hearts- and then Jimmy cried out, triumphantly, "The two of hearts!"

"Shh," Thomas said- but he did not keep Jimmy in suspense, instead flipping the card around so that Jimmy could see that he had been right. Jimmy pumped his fist in the air, and let out a muted whoop. "That's right!" Jimmy said, rising to his feet. "I'm getting them right about half of the time now," He added, coming over to Thomas. "I can see _behind_ them-"

One correct guess was not enough to convince Thomas, but before he could reply, they heard footsteps in the hall, and he grimaced at Jimmy. They both ran around on tiptoe, as quietly as possible, getting dressed.

At breakfast everyone was crowded together, but the lovely feeling of camaraderie that all the others had seemed possessed of the night before did not translate well to the morning. Hangovers were obvious in abundance, and Thomas could not help but remember the day after the haunting- or _whatever_ it had been- had first made itself known at Downton. Jimmy hadn't been able to get a seat next to Thomas, and Thomas had felt his annoyance at the fact. Thomas had _felt_ Jimmy's annoyance. _Jimmy's_ annoyance, not his own. Thomas tried not to be too distressed about it, but he failed- what ever was going on, it was beyond his powers of comprehension. It had been different with the spirits- that had been happening to _everyone-_ but this was his cross to bear, and his alone.

Thomas sat and read a book, trying to keep himself occupied and away from thoughts that did not belong to him. Sounds seemed unbearably loud- from his hangover or from whatever strange madness had descended on him, Thomas did not know. _I might really be cracking up_, Thomas mused, and kept himself from shuddering. Through everything, Thomas had always had himself- safe, within the citadel of his own mind, he could look out, or down- with apt perspective, even on his own foolishness...

But now his mind seemed to be _broken_- some intrinsic cog had either stopped working or sprung, suddenly, into life- and even if it was only Jimmy's thoughts he could hear, even if they were _not_ imaginary, as Jimmy had insisted they were not- still Thomas did not want them. _Take it away, please, I don't want it-_ Thomas pleaded silently, not knowing exactly whom he was pleading with.

Jimmy was staring at his cards. He had scarcely eaten, which was not his usual, and he pushed his plate away from himself to make room for his strange guessing game. Thomas forced himself to contemplate his book, trying to block out the ceaseless refrain of Jimmy's mind.

_The eight of hearts, _Jimmy's voice whispered, inside his head. It wasn't even as jarring as it had been a day and a half before- no scratched recording or gramaphone-behind-glass effect- just a soft, almost mechanical quality- as if Jimmy's inner voice could hit more notes, simultaneously, than his actual voice would have ever been capable of. _It's as if I'm getting _used _to it,_ Thomas thought, feeling a chill start at the base of his neck. He turned his attention the book he held open, trying to remember what he had read last.

_' "I intend taking you both back to Helium," I said. "No harm will come to you. You will find the red men of Helium a kindly and magnanimous race, but if they listen to me there will be no more voluntary pilgrimages down the river Iss, and the impossible belief that they have cherished for ages will be shattered into a thousand pieces." '_

Jimmy's intense, concentrated thoughts broke into Thomas's reading: _The deuce- um, of- oh, I can only see the letters, not the symbols- _

Thomas told himself to ignore it, and read on.

_' "Are you of Helium?" he asked. "I am a Prince of the House of Tardos Mors, Jeddak of Helium," I replied, "but I am not of Barsoom. I am of another world." Xodar looked at me intently for a few moments-'_

_-the deuce of diamonds! Yes! That's right! Oh, I have to show Thomas, he doesn't believe me yet-_

_No,_ Thomas told himself._ Don't be distracted by him. Just read the bloody book._ He had forgotten his spot on the page, and now traced down through the text with his index finger.

_'-Xodar looked at me intently for a few moments. "I can well believe that you are not of Barsoom," he said at length. "None of this world could have bested eight of the First Born single-handed. But how is it that you wear the golden hair and the jewelled circlet of a Holy Thern?" '_

"James, this book you loaned me is unbearable," Thomas said, looking up from the page. Jimmy glanced up from his cards, and their eyes met, and Thomas got that same thrill he always got, the one that never went away. He wondered at himself, that Jimmy should have him so utterly in his thrall, even now, when Thomas had so much to be worried about-

"What?" Jimmy asked. "Oh. But those are _good_, Mr. Barrow, and I thought you liked fantasy books. You're the one who gave me the fantasy story about the man who turned into a giant cockroach!"

"That wasn't a _fantasy _book, that was a meditation on the human condition," Thomas retorted.

"With all respect, Mr. Barrow, I read that story after Jimmy," Alfred said, through a mouthful of toast, "an' it was _definitely_ about a bloke who got changed into a giant bug. That's fantasy."

Jimmy nodded with emphatic agreement. Thomas rolled his eyes, shutting the book. In his head Jimmy said _Can you hear me? I love you. I'm thinking it right now, and all these miserable idiots can't hear me! Telepathy could be very liberating, you know. 'Meditation on the human condition', my arse... you awful snob..._The thoughts were all tinged with affection, and they made Thomas feel strangely warmed inside, although the words themselves were Jimmy's normal style of sarcasm.

Thomas's eyes wandered down the table. O'Brien- drawn, but apparently unscathed- sat at the far end, with Fred to her left. Thomas narrowed his eyes. Fred's clothing was impeccable- but one of his dark curls had sprung loose from his pomaded hair, giving him a slightly unkempt look, and he had a faraway expression. Also, he wasn't talking, which Thomas thought unusual, given what little he knew of Fred's disposition.

"So what are you going to do with your weekend off?" Anna asked Thomas. She sat to his right, and Thomas could feel her presence, there by his side. This was normal, of course, but today it disconcerted him- suppose he was soon able to hear every thing that _everybody_ thought? How would he keep from going mad?

O'Brien shot Thomas a _look_ at Anna's question, but Thomas only raised an eyebrow at her, as if to say, _I've got it covered_- and replied smoothly.

"I'm going to Chelmsford, myself," he answered, "Saturday is my birthday, and I have a day pass to play cricket at the Essex CCC." There. The lie came out perfectly, exactly as he had imagined, and his tone was casual, but with a touch of excitement at the prospect of playing cricket at an upscale club.

Across the table Jimmy's eyes widened, and Thomas heard what Jimmy didn't say: _Your birthday? Is that true, or just part of the grand cover-up?_

"Oh, I never knew when your birthday was," Anna said- she smiled at Thomas, and Thomas suspected that she knew he was lying. It didn't matter, though- Anna was trustworthy, and everyone else had bought his story.

Thomas suddenly had a bad feeling- Jimmy's mood had changed, and Thomas felt Jimmy gathering himself, to do something- probably something disagreeable-

"I'll have to get you a present," Anna said to Thomas, smiling, and then Jimmy, almost cutting her off, blurted-"But I thought we agreed that we'd stay in London and see the sights _together_, Mr. Barrow, so that you wouldn't have to be alone for your birthday."

Anna looked quite startled- perhaps not so much at what Jimmy had said, but at the fact that he _had_ said it- but she quickly composed herself. O'Brien glanced over at Thomas, giving him an expression that he was too much at a loss to return.

"Ah..." Thomas said, helplessly, and then covered for himself. "Well, James, I'm still not certain- after all, it is a very exclusive club-"

"But you said you would-"Jimmy said, meeting his eyes. A dangerous challenge gleamed in Jimmy's gaze. _No, no, _Thomas thought, _don't throw down the gauntlet right now, for God's sake-_

To Thomas's left, Carson cleared his throat, and Thomas's insides twisted in horror. _Please, Jimmy,_ he thought, _please shut up-_

Fred seemed to have come round after a cup of coffee, and he interjected, saving Thomas from the hole Jimmy seemed intent on digging for them. "If you do go together, you should take an evening at the clubs and visit Madame Nicodème. She works all autumn and winter at one called _The Fig Leaf, _reading people's fortunes."

"That sounds _most _unsavory," Carson said, but a swell of interest rose around the table at the mention of the medium's name. The Madame had left unannounced, her departure coinciding with the end of the- the hauntings, or whatever they had been. Everyone had whispered that she and her odd valet were a pair of spirits themselves, lending them a sort of dignity. However, the idea had broken apart a few days later, when Madame Nicodème had sent Lord Grantham her (supposedly rather large) bill, leading Carson to go so far as calling her a charlatan- though he'd only said it to Thomas and Mrs. Hughes, and then only behind closed doors.

"Oh, the medium?" Alfred asked, interestedly. "I wish she would've come to the party."

"As do I," Anna said, and Thomas shot her a grateful look for having helped to divert the subject away from himself. "It would be exciting to _fly_ again," Anna went on.

"I feel like we really more _floated_," Fred said, his expression crackling with interest. Thomas's heart was still beating hard, from the fright Jimmy had given him. Across the table Jimmy looked sour at Fred having snatched the conversation away from him, but Thomas could not get specific thoughts.

"But it wasn't the medium who made us float, was it?" Alfred asked.

"You're right, Alfred," Bates said, from Anna's other side.

"Yes, I suppose it was Lady Sybil who did it," Anna said.

"I would like to change the subject," Carson said, trampling all over the subject of ghosts.

"Now, really, Mr. Carson," Mrs. Hughes said, "we can't very well pretend as if it hadn't happened, can we?"

Jimmy was laughing internally, Thomas could feel it. Carson gathered himself up in his chair, his expression affronted, and responded with stiff dignity: "Just because things are _true_, Mrs. Hughes, does not mean that they bear discussion at the breakfast table."

The day wore on, filled with extra work that had been created by the party. Thomas's head pounded, and through all his pain still he could feel the edges of Jimmy's thoughts and moods. It was easier, Thomas found, if Jimmy were farther away. The proximity of their physical bodies seemed to have some part in Thomas's frightening new talent. When Jimmy had gone outside to load up the valises of some lingering overnight guests, his... the _signal_ of his thoughts- had faded from Thomas's head almost completely.

Fred caught him outside, smoking with O'Brien. "Oh, Mr. Barrow, I wanted to thank you for-" Fred exclaimed, rounding the corner. "Oh," the valet said, catching sight of Thomas's companion. "Hello, Miss O'Brien."

"Good afternoon," O'Brien said, nodding. Fred looked at her, appraisingly, and then back at Thomas. "May I speak, ah, _freely_ in front of Miss O'Brien?" Fred asked, directing the statement at both of them.

"Certainly," Thomas said, and O'Brien nodded.

"Oh, good, I figured," Fred said, smiling. "Can I have a fag?"

Thomas and O'Brien both reached for their cigarettes, but O'Brien was quicker. Thomas smirked- O'Brien doing the good Samaritan bit never failed to amuse him. Fred lit his cigarette and exhaled with a sigh. "Thank you kindly. Anyways," Fred said, his dark eyes slitting shut, as if in delirious happiness- "I just _had_ to thank you, Thomas- I mean Mr. Barrow- for telling me to talk to your wonderful friend."

"Former friend," Thomas corrected. O'Brien's face lit up with interest. "Who's this then?" She asked Thomas, but he could see that she already had the answer.

"The Duke of Crowborough," Fred said, grinning, and sweeping his cigarette through the air in a dramatic gesture. "We stayed up all _night_- talking, of course," Fred added, with a laugh.

"I'm- ah, glad that you found his company to be to your liking," Thomas said, uncomfortably. Fred was speaking a bit frankly, even compared to the way Thomas and O'Brien talked between themselves when they were alone. But Fred did not seem to know or care, and he chatted on.

"You know what I said to him?" Fred asked, and Thomas and O'Brien shook their heads.

"Well," Fred said, smugly, "I went right up to him, and I said: 'I heard you're looking for a man to take your _clothes_ off.' "

O'Brien raised her eyebrows and slid Thomas a sideways look.

"-And he just said, all sadly: 'I don't think I can afford to pay a valet, actually.' And then _I_ said" 'Well, I didn't mean for a_ fee_!' " here Fred broke off, laughing at his own wit.

"So it's love then, yes?" O'Brien asked, her eyebrows still residing somewhere north of her hairline.

"I- actually," Fred said, dreamily, "I think maybe. He's the opposite of my last love in every way. Linus was a _saint_, and the Duke... well, he's really a bit of a _prat_, isn't he? And so bossy- but there's _something _about him- anyhow, I've made some plans-" Fred shook his head. "Sorry. And here's me, rambling on."

"What kind of plans?" O'Brien asked. Thomas wished she wouldn't- he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"To be honest, I bloody _hate_ Germany," Fred replied. It seemed a bit of a non-sequitur, but then he elaborated. "I'll feel bad, leaving the D'Abernons on such short notice- they only go back in two weeks- and my Lady is just going to be _devastated_, we're so close- though I doubt my Lord will even notice that I've switched with someone new-"

"What exactly is it that you're planning on doing?" Thomas asked, interrupting the ceaseless flow of words.

"Oh. Why, running away with the Duke, of course," Fred said, as though he had long since explained it. "I think I'll take him back to my parents. I imagine it's depressing to live alone in a castle with no furniture. And the shock of _my_ family might do him a little good-"

"Have you discussed any of this with the Duke?" O'Brien asked, at the same moment that Thomas asked, "With your _parents?_"

"Oh, sure," Fred said, waving a hand at Thomas. "My parents let Linus and I live with them. Same room and everything. I thought I told you my parents were a bit bizarre."

"Well, yes, but-" Thomas said, and Fred interrupted him. "I think they'd let me shack up with the bloody _Pope_ if only it meant I'd leave service and move back home. And to answer your question," Fred added, indicating O'Brien- "no, I haven't told my Duke a word about it. But he'll do anything I say. He's _mad_ about me_._ One can always tell." Fred flicked his cigarette away, and nodded to them both. "Well, I have to be getting back to work." With a jaunty wave Fred left them, disappearing around the corner from whence he'd come.

Thomas and O'Brien smoked for a moment longer in silence, and then O'Brien said, "Difficult to get a word in with that one, isn't it?"

* * *

Thomas stood in at dinner, as the D'Abernons and some other assorted guests were staying on until friday. The Duke was at dinner, too, his black eye shining from his face ostentatiously, but no one brought it up. Thomas wondered idly what lie the Duke had made up to keep interest for his injury at bay- the Duke was an excellent liar, perhaps one of the best Thomas had ever met. He was quite certain that the man would have been utterly convincing.

"Please tell us, Ambassador, about how things are faring in Germany," The Duke said, perhaps not knowing what a trap he was laying for himself. Across the table, Lady Mary visibly rolled her eyes. "Well," Lord D'Abernon said, leaning forward- "I think the SPD is making a mistake with-"

Jimmy was serving the Duke, now, and Thomas held his breath- but the Duke only took his food, ignoring Jimmy as one was supposed to. _That's right, you don't see me, though I trounced you thoroughly. Even the furniture that beats you up is still just furniture,_ Jimmy thought, as he moved on to serve Branson.

Thomas could hear the strange tones of Jimmy thoughts, meandering around him in the air of the dining room. _God, look at that... really got in a good one- didn't I, Thomas... I hope he doesn't say anything, the smug prig- oh I wonder if- no- Hey! Are you still mad at me for this morning, Thomas? You know I only did it because I- oh, that reminds me...I have to practice, later... with my cards..._

At the other end of the room Lady D'Abernon was clutching her hands in a gesture of dismay. "And the worst bit about it is, we've no one to replace him! I don't even know what Edgar will do without him-"

"I'm very sorry to hear it," Lady Grantham said. "I'll ask around and see if anybody knows of a valet in need of a position."

Thomas glanced over to see if the Duke had reacted to the news of Fred's quitting, but the Duke appeared to be fully engaged with the long-winded political lectures that Lord D'Abernon made his special province. "How intriguing," The Duke said.

Thomas had heard long ago, from gossip, that Lord Grantham disliked the Duke- he had pulled back, suddenly, on his apparent intentions to ask for Lady Mary's hand, after she had lost her fortune to Mr. Crawley. However Lord Grantham, operating from somewhere inside his newly found state of perpetual bliss, was letting the Duke stay at his house and eat at his table, with nary a look askance.

_Thomas_, Jimmy thought, and Thomas looked over to him, in time to see Jimmy hide a smile. _Caught you looking_.

Thomas did not roll his eyes, but only just.

Dinner and afterwards seemed interminable, although Thomas was glad to see that the Duke did not come through. _Probably off with Fred_, Thomas thought. Or, more like, probably off confronting Fred about his sudden departure from the service industry. Thomas tried to imagine the Duke's reaction to Fred's bold plan for them to go live among the circus people, and found that he could not imagine it, and that he did not particularly care if things worked out alright between them- although he had felt rather more magnanimous when he'd been inebriated.

Sounds seemed very loud to Thomas again, and by the time he was finally free to go downstairs, the clink of glasses and the idle chatter of conversation felt almost unbearable, like ceaseless rain drumming against his skull.

But, for some reason- though it disconcerted him still- there _was_ something comforting about the press of Jimmy's mind against his own. Not that Thomas would have admitted it- not in a thousand years. But there was something- about the way Jimmy kept internal time with whatever music was being played, whether he was playing it or not, that was pleasant- and even his odd card game was somehow not so awful, after all. Thomas liked the sound of Jimmy guessing, it was like some half-forgotten noise in the background of a childhood memory. _Hearing his inner monolgues gives me that same feeling as I used to have listening to stories in my father's workshop-_ Thomas thought, and then wanted to vomit for having thought something so saccharine.

It was true, though. Thomas would never say it, but he found that he could not deny it to himself.

Still the sounds wore on Thomas. He felt stupidly tired and yet over-aware, and he found himself unable to reconcile his current set of experiences with the scope of his beliefs. _How can this be?_ Thomas asked himself, over and over again. _Am I imagining it all?_ Questions buffeted his mind, a wearier refrain than Jimmy's idle musings.

"I'm going up," Thomas said, to the room at large, and Jimmy thought _I'll be up there in a minute. Well- perhaps a bit longer than a minute, wouldn't want to upset you by being obvious-_

Jimmy had certainly done enough of _that _today. Thankfully no one had said another word about London.

Upstairs the intensity of the noises abated somewhat, and Thomas got into bed, resting his weary head against the pillow, and drifting, until he heard Jimmy come in. "You've got to see how well I'm doing _now_," Jimmy whispered, and then came closer. "Are you sleeping?"

Thomas heard Jimmy carelessly undressing, and afterwards Jimmy came to lay beside him on the cot. "You're not still mad at me, are you?" Jimmy asked. "I just think it's a better idea to be as honest as we can while still getting away with it. If we-"

"I'm not so eager to be fired," Thomas said, tiredly. "But if that's what you're going to do, I'll likely follow you, wherever you may go."

"That's not what I'm trying to do," Jimmy said, and his internal voice added _But it was gallant of him to say._ "I'm just," Jimmy went on, stroking his fingers through Thomas's hair- "trying to find a happy medium."

Thomas looked over at him. "You're bloody bad at it."

"Maybe," Jimmy allowed, amusement coloring his emotions- "but at least I'm _trying._ I'm trying to-"

"Straighten up and fly right, I know," Thomas said, trying to sound exasperated but mostly sounding sleepy. "You have a funny way of going about it."

"Well, I'm doing _something_ right," Jimmy asserted. His fingers skated over Thomas's collarbone, and he rested his head right up against Thomas's, on the pillow. "This thing I can do with the cards is positively otherworldly. I believe that some sort of beings beyond our comprehension have taken an interest in us-"

"You _believe_ that, d'ya?" Thomas asked, smirking, and Jimmy nodded, bumping their skulls together gently. "Utterly," Jimmy answered. "And why not? Lieutenant Courtenay did. Take an interest, I mean."

"Prove it," Thomas said, smiling, and Jimmy kissed his mouth for a long moment. "Mmm," he said, when he leaned back from Thomas. "That proves it. Are you falling asleep?"

"Yes," Thomas said. For the first time all day his head did not ache, and he closed his eyes.

_I love you_, he heard Jimmy say- no, think- _I love you. You're special, Thomas. My life has never been so-_

"Goodnight," Jimmy said, in the middle of his own thoughts, and they both slipped into dreams.

* * *

Jimmy dreamed of the dark room. Here the magician- or perhaps it really _was_ just a pair of disembodied hands, but Jimmy doubted it- flipped the cards, over and over, and Jimmy answered for each of them. "The nine of spades. The Queen of Hearts. The three of diamonds, the five of diamonds, the-"

On it went, and with each card that flipped over- all bearing the word _Strongheart_- Jimmy felt more and more confident. Things stirred above him in the vaulted velvet darkness, and he looked up, bracing himself for the crashing of the Voice, the Voice that drowned out all sound and all thought-

But then he was only in a blank white room, though for a second he had seen a flash of darkness and the cold stones of an alleyway-

"Now, listen to me, love-" that was Thomas, and he was _crying_, Jimmy could hear it in his voice- but he couldn't _find _ Thomas, not anywhere, not in the thick fog that filled the room.

"Please listen. You have to _listen_."

"Listen to what? Thomas!" Jimmy called out, and he stumbled through the fog, and then it parted, and he stumbled into a doorway- and through it. He was in a house of glass, with glass walls and enormous windows set seamlessly into the walls. "Thomas!" Jimmy called, and then, when Jimmy least expected it, the terrible Voice made itself known at last-

"_LISTEN," _It said, with a roar of noise, and Jimmy clutched his ears and ducked down, as the glass walls broke apart under the strain of the Voice. Crystalline shards rained down through the air, piercing furniture, shattering into infinite pieces upon the polished floor, knocking vases down, and pelting Jimmy, though somehow he remained unhurt. The scene was apocalyptic, and Jimmy could barely find the courage to raise his head- but finally he did, holding his hands up to keep the glass out of his eyes- and screamed into the sound _"Listen to what? Listen to WHAT?"_

The sound seemed to disappear back in on itself in a wave, and the force of the sudden absence of the Voice knocked Jimmy to his feet. He was lying on a tiled ballroom floor, eye-level with the shined shoes of many dancing couples. And there was Thomas, holding out his hand to help Jimmy up. Thomas pulled Jimmy to his feet, and then arranged their arms, stepping them into a dance. "You have to listen to me," Thomas said, into his ear.  
"I _do_ listen to you," Jimmy said, looking around them, at the low-vaulted ceilings. In the corner opposite the stage, a red tent blew in a breeze that came from nowhere.

"Not like _that_," Thomas said. "You have to listen _between_ the words. Like how you've learned to see _behind _the cards."

"Between the words?" Jimmy asked, confusedly.

"Yes," Thomas said, with a smile like a crescent moon. "Yes. And when you can _listen_, then you will be able to understand things as they really are."

"I will?" Jimmy asked. he did not know what Thomas meant, or why the idea should fill him with excitement.

"You will," Thomas promised, "if you listen." Thomas pressed a kiss against Jimmy's lips, and Jimmy was struck with terrible love for him, and he held Thomas close for a beat, before they joined the crowd, dancing to the ticking of a metronome that went on and on and on-

* * *

Jimmy's eyes opened to the clang of the alarm clock, and he dragged himself up to turn it off.

Beside him, Thomas woke up with a sharp inhalation of breath- his eyes flew wide open, and he looked up at Jimmy.

"Are you alright?" Thomas asked him. His hands came up and traced over Jimmy's abdomen as if he were checking him for marks.

"Fine," Jimmy said, looking at Thomas questioningly. "What's the matter?"

Thomas, apparently satisfied that Jimmy was indeed alive, sat back. "I was having nightmares," Thomas said, rubbing his temples. Jimmy thought he looked a bit ill. _Are you feeling poorly_? Jimmy asked, silently, and Thomas shook his head. "I'm fine," He said- but Jimmy saw that Thomas sat up unsteadily, and when he lit a cigarette, his hands trembled. Jimmy felt a fissure of worry break through his fascination with Thomas's newfound abilities. Suppose it just got worse? Or- no, not _worse_ exactly, but- but _stronger_? Could he become so sensitive to thoughts that he wouldn't be able to function in everyday life? Was that even possible?

"It _is_ getting worse," Thomas said, his tone hollow, and reached for a cigarette. "But not so bad I can't work," Thomas added, as an afterthought.

Jimmy looked at Thomas's face- the dark rings that had sprung up under his eyes- the curves of his cheekbones cutting across his face, to come to rest at the corners of his downturned mouth- and he saw weariness, and the tension of a spring about to snap- in every aspect of the other man's features.

"Look here," Jimmy said, and put his arms around Thomas. Thomas, after the briefest pause (there was almost _always _a brief pause, unless Thomas was drinking) leaned into Jimmy's embrace. Thomas went one step further, surprising Jimmy, and rested his head against Jimmy's collarbone- and Jimmy, touching him, found that Thomas's shoulders were trembling. He shook like a man with a fever. Jimmy felt prickles of alarm dance through his head, but he tried not to articulate any thoughts about it, either internally of externally. _It's just fine, everything is fine, it all worked out with the spirits, didn't it?_ Jimmy thought, and at the same time he said, as nicely as he could, "Everything is all right. I'm learning this for a reason, you know. I just don't have the gift, I think- it takes more work for me."

"What are you talking about, " Thomas muttered, but it was not really a question, and Jimmy didn't bother to answer him. "This is happening for a reason," Jimmy said, confidently, and he _meant _it, too. Thomas would certainly feel how much he meant it. "Haven't you learned that- when it comes to you and I- everything in the world- it all happens for a reason?"

"Whatever happened to _Jimmy contra mundi_?" Thomas asked, taking a spectacularly large drag off of his cigarette. He seemed much more composed now. Jimmy assessed Thomas with his eyes, and then kissed him on the cheek.

"It's Jimmy and _Thomas_ contra mundum, now," Jimmmy returned. "And yet somehow I've lost that feeling I always had- that the world was against us."

Thomas looked at him as if he'd gone insane. "But the other day you said that you wished the world would accept people of our sort-"

"Of _your_ sort," Jimmy corrected, feeling rather superior. "And I only feel as though _society _or whatever is at fault, not the _world_. I don't think the universe cares if we bugger each other all night and day. In fact I think it _wants _us to."

"You think the universe wants us to bugger each other," Thomas repeated, flatly. To Jimmy he looked as though he did not even have the energy to be mocking. Thomas pressed his free hand once more to his temple.

"If you feel unwell, you should take today off," Jimmy said.

"Right before my two-day weekend," Thomas said. "Carson will be overjoyed."

"Carson's not the one with _telepathy_, so I don't give a hang how he feels about it," Jimmy said.

"I do, a bit," Thomas said, and Jimmy shook his head disapprovingly, and got up to dress.

Jimmy watched Thomas for signs of frayed or fraying nerves at breakfast. He tried not to send his thoughts out to Thomas overly much, in case Thomas found the game wearying, but Thomas looked up at him frequently, as if acknowledging even the things Jimmy hadn't meant for him to hear- or- or _comprehend_, or however these mystical sort of powers worked, Jimmy didn't know.

The trick with his cards- well, not a trick, more like a practised ability- was becoming easier and easier- he could do it with almost flawless accuracy now, although it was still a bit slow- perhaps five seconds. _Too slow for gambling_, Jimmy thought, idly.

Jimmy could almost remember the contents of his dreams- he remembered something, anyways. Something about listening... listening to the words... listening to what?

_Hmm_, Jimmy thought, drinking his coffee and staring at his cards until the phrase came back to him. _You have to listen _between _the words._

But what did it mean? Jimmy was not sure, although Thomas gave him a sharp look as he thought it.

The thing was, Jimmy decided later, as he and Alfred grabbed a few minutes respite in the kitchen- the thing was, he worried about Thomas far too much. Jimmy was used to worrying about himself and himself only- but for more than half a year, it had been- well, he would just say that Thomas had been in the running for whom Jimmy spent most time thinking about.

_Longer than that, if you're honest_, Jimmy thought, and looked around guiltily, but Thomas was away upstairs and hopefully couldn't hear him.

_Oh, but I can't help that I love him,_ Jimmy went on, internally. _God knows I would have stopped at the beginning it if I could've. Because I was so afraid. But now, now I can't imagine anything else-_

"It seems a shame to throw all the jack-o'-lanterns away, though," Alfred was telling Ivy. "Maybe Mr. Carson will let us keep some in the servant's hall until they're done in."

"Mrs. Hughes may strong-arm him into it, at that," Jimmy added, but his mind was elsewhere. He was beginning to have an idea- a loosely formed idea, now- vague at best- but something- _something_- _you could win a lot of money that way- looking behind the cards- listening between the words-_

_-a person is a card with more sides_, Jimmy thought, and shook his head. Where had _that_ come from?

"I said, we should go back," Alfred was telling him, and Jimmy nodded, as though he'd heard the first time.

* * *

Jimmy ran into Awful Alfred in the men's hall. He'd had nothing to do for a few moments, and he needed to pack for London, but most everything he needed was in Thomas's room, and so he hesitated in the hallway, waiting for the valet to pass.

"Oh, hello," Awful Alfred said, and Jimmy nodded without replying.

"I suppose you heard the Duke is leaving today?" Awful Alfred wore a mischievous expression that Jimmy itched to knock off of his face.

"Uh- no," Jimmy said, hoping he would not have to take out the Duke's luggage. "Why?"

"I just thought you'd be glad to see him go," Awful Alfred answered, his eyes twinkling. "You're very sensitive about Mr. Barrow, aren't you?"

"Please stop talking to me about Mr. Barrow," Jimmy spat out, his hands balling into fists- he unclenched one first with an effort and jerked open the door, stepping in, and shutting it in the face of the detestable valet. It was only after he had closed the door that Jimmy realized he had just stormed into Thomas's room, and he felt a wave of embarrassment- could he really be any more obvious? Well- he couldn't be on _Awful Alfred's_ level of obviousness, surely, but-

_Oh, I don't care_, Jimmy told himself. _If everyone knew at least I wouldn't have to sneak around. Thomas still doesn't see how things can be- but he will- that's why this is happening to us- there are still some things we need to work out-_

On the bed was Thomas's suitcase, open and haf-packed, and Jimmy went over to it. There were impeccably folded shirts, and Jimmy found he could not resist the urge to rifle a bit. Under the shirts he found two books- _Chrome Yellow_, and _The King in Yellow. _

_Interesting color scheme with the literature,_ Jimmy thought, amused. _But I hope he doesn't think he'll have time to _read_ while we're on holiday. _Idly he opened one of the books- the one about the king- and read a few lines:

_' Camilla: You, sir, should unmask._

_Stranger: Indeed?_

_Cassilda: Indeed it's time. We have all laid aside disguise but you._

_Stranger: I wear no mask._

_Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No _mask_? No mask! '_

Jimmy closed the book, dropping it back into the suitcase. _And he says the books _I_ give him are bad,_ Jimmy thought, moving aside more clothing. He found his metronome safely wrapped in a black cloth, and he took it out of the luggage entirely, putting it back on the vanity. _That's thoughtful of him, but I'll need it for sleeping, tonight._

Jimmy pulled away the last layer of pyjamas and found, underneath everything, a wrinkled black necktie. Not _mine?_ Jimmy wondered, taking it out- it was different from no other necktie, really- but it layed all alone, in the bottom of Thomas's suitcase. Jimmy wondered if there was some significance in it. Thomas was very precise- fastidious, really. Things that Thomas did were done on purpose. And Jimmy had never seen his necktie again, after the séance- he _had _thought, knowing Thomas, that he'd squirreled it away somewhere-

The bedroom door opened, and Jimmy jumped, remembering that he had not bolted it- but it was only Thomas, who stepped in and slid the bolt, giving Jimmy a knowing look.

"I could hear you snooping all the way from the servant's hall," Thomas said, walking over to sit heavily on the desk chair. Jimmy gave him a once-over, trying to see Thomas in an unbiased light. He looked awful- tired, ragged.

"Thanks very much," Thomas mumbled, collecting his ashtray. "I also heard you had a bit of an altercation with Fred."

"You _heard_ that, or he told you?" Jimmy asked, annoyed.

"He told me," Thomas replied, and lit a cigarette.

"Does he talk to you every hour?" Jimmy asked. "I walked away from him. I was very restrained."

"You know the Duke's agreed to run away with him," Thomas said. His lips curled up slightly into a half-sneer. Jimmy had seen _that_ contemptuous look surface more than once- though Thomas had never directed such an expression at Jimmy himself.

And then Jimmy heard a sound- such a strange sound that for a moment he flinched back, expecting to hear the terrible, deafening tones of the Voice that had lately occupied his dreams-

But the sound was not the roar of the Voice- rather, it was a man speaking in another room- it was a piano played far away, making itself known even through many layers of glass-

-it was _Thomas_-

_Funny, how I begged the Duke for the same privilege and he betrayed me, but he loves Fred after one night- _

_Something wrong about me, something very wrong, I've always known_

_Oh Jimmy oh Jimmy I wish you could love me as I love you-_

Jimmy stumbled back, raising his hands to his ears- although he had not heard the sound in his _ears_ at all, really- but he did not know any other way of processing the sense. Thomas was on his feet, clutching Jimmy's arms. Thomas's lips moved, shaping the words: _"What's wrong?_"_,_ but Jimmy could not hear his voice.

"Augh!" Jimmy cried out, gasping for air- and then the weird feeling flickered out, and he bent over, panting. "Augh," he said again, weakly.

"What happened?" Thomas asked, his eyes searching Jimmy's face. _He's reading my thoughts_, Jimmy thought, feeling the wild beating of his own heart, and leaned back. "I just _heard_ you, Thomas," He said, after a few long beats. "I _heard_ you! I heard you _in my mind!_ "

"In your mind," Thomas repeated, and Jimmy snatched his cigarette out of his hand, dragging deeply upon it. "It's gone now," Jimmy said, trying to communicate the depth of what he had felt and finding his words inadequate- he could only hope his thoughts were making up for it, so that Thomas could have _some_ idea-

"In my mind, yes- I felt it, oh god- I felt-" Jimmy shoved his free hand through his hair and turned in a circle. "I felt how you felt. Oh, god, is it really like _that_? It's so _strong-_"

Thomas nodded, his brows knit together in concern. "What did you feel?" He asked Jimmy.

"I felt that you don't feel good enough- and you- you _liar_, you're still sore at the Duke over what he did to you- but I could tell you don't love him anymore, so I'm not _too_ mad- and you- you love me _so_ much, it's as if your heart would break-"

Jimmy forced himself to stop, trying to gain back some semblance of composure. Thomas looked awash in chagrin at his words, and Jimmy put his hand to the other man's chest, resting his fingers over Thomas's heart.

"And there's nothing wrong with you," Jimmy said, solemnly. In his throat his pulse ticked away as though he had been sprinting. "If nobody loved you before- except the Lieutenant, I mean- then it was only because they were bad people and too dull to see- to see things as they really are."

Thomas's lips were parted in an expression of surprise, and Jimmy touched his lips. "I _do _love you as you love me, stupid," Jimmy said, and cracked a smile.

"Ah," Thomas said, carefully. "Well. Thank you, Jimmy."

Jimmy's smile became a grin. "I _like_ the telepathy, Mr. Barrow. I like it very much."

"Yes, I gathered that," Thomas said, reaching his hands out to Jimmy as if to make sure he was still in working order. Jimmy caught one of his hands and kissed it, and then put his arms about Thomas, wishing for the thousandth time that he was taller and broader than Thomas, so that he could _hold _him properly.

"This is a fantastic world we live in," Jimmy said, remembering the dizzying feeling of being inside Thomas's head. It was such a place- sad and dark and lovely all at the same moment, all of the parts commingling with one another, each bit inseperable.

"Not that I mean we're living in a _fantasy_ _world_," Jimmy corrected, softly. "Just that the world is a most wonderful fantasy and you and I are the protagonists."

Thomas laughed, softly. "Maybe _you're_ living in a fantasy world," He answered, and Jimmy laughed in return, dropping his arms, and went to gather up all of the things he'd need to travel with.

Jimmy was stopped by Carson on his way through downstairs. "The Duke of Crowborough is departing, and I need you and Alfred to see to his things," Carson told him, and Jimmy nodded acquiescently, but he thought: _Oh, hell. Of course._

Jimmy and Alfred went to the Duke's room- one of the grandest ones, on the east side. The luggage was packed- Jimmy could not suppress a feeling of happiness at the idea of the Duke packing his own luggage, _sans valet_- and waiting neatly by the door. In the room Jimmy could hear the low murmur of voices, and he hurried Alfred along, racing him a bit down the stairs, so that they would not linger outside long enough to hear anything they shouldn't.

Thomas leaned up against the door as Jimmy exited the building, bringing things to the car. You couldn't _tell_ that Thomas was leaning, but he was. Jimmy knew that Thomas had a particular way of resting against his hands, as he clasped them behind his back, that made his posture perfectly rigid.

_!Hey, you, I've been inside your _brain_!_ Jimmy thought, but Thomas blinked and Jimmy lowered his- uh- i_nner_ voice. _I've been inside your body and your brain_, Jimmy thought, more softly, as he deposited suitcases into the boot of the Duke's very-expensive looking car. _And so you've been inside me, too, in every way,_ Jimmy thought, carefully not looking at Thomas as he walked back past him, into the house. _That makes us quite committed to one another. More than most people. By the way I hate having to do _anything_ for the Duke_, _you know_-

Alfred pushed past him in a way that they would have been throughly chastised for, had Carson seen it, and they raced up the stairs, Jimmy no match for Alfred's long legs, and not really trying either. _Let him be the one caught behaving in an unseemly fashion_, Jimmy thought. Alfred selected a trunk that looked too heavy for one man and took off, leaving Jimmy alone, for a moment, at the Duke's door.

Sounds seemed to be very _loud_ to Jimmy. Through the door he heard the Duke- speaking in a hushed whisper. _How can I hear him whispering_? Jimmy wondered, by he loitered anyways, listening.

"I don't know- even a week and a half seems a long time-"

"You're a liar and a flatterer-" that was Awful Alfred, Jimmy recognized his mincing tones- "-and I know perfectly well that you're alright on your own. But you will miss me." There was some syrupy Awful Aflred laughter- bedroom laughter- following this declaration.

"You know, I really _will_..." The Duke said, after a pause. "I wonder how you managed that."

More bedroom laughter, and Jimmy rolled his eyes and grabbed a valise, making away with it. _Yes, we're all very happy for you and we don't care_, Jimmy thought. It was a rough attempt at being charitable, but he was trying, at least, to straighten up and fly right. And to practice. And to listen. And to be of _strong heart_. And to do his job. It was a lot to put on the plate of one man.

Jimmy did not see Thomas again until dinner. It was the final night that the D'Abernons would be staying- and their departure would mark the last of the Hallowe'en guests leaving. The house would go back to order and he and Thomas would slip quietly away for their romantic weekend.

"Yes. And I'll stay with Edith, or Rosamund," Lady Mary was telling the Dowager, whose eyes widened quite noticeably, but who, for the sake of the guests, remained silent. Jimmy waited for Lord Grantham to forbid his eldest daughter from taking her infant son and staying with her sister and her sister's married lover- but he did no such thing, instead speaking softly to Lady Grantham. Lord Grantham always sat beside his wife at meals, now- which was considered contrary to the ideas of polite seating at Downton, where all cliques were broken up during dinner.

"I think we should have a photograph taken, of all of us by those flowering trees," Lady D'Abernon was telling Mr. Branson. "Before we leave tomorrow."

"They're all bare, now," Mr. Branson said, looking a bit disturbed at the fact that he had to speak with Lady D'Abernon at all.

"Oh, but the fallen leaves make the most beautiful red carpet on the ground," Lady Rose put in. "I wish I could have seen them burn!"

"It was marvelous," Lady Mary agreed, and Jimmy saw heads nod in agreement all around the table. Even Lord D'Abernon nodded, though Jimmy thought he was only-half listening.

_You_ _see?_ Jimmy thought, looking over at Thomas. _Everyone loved the spirits except for you and Mr. Carson. Do you know what that makes you?_

Jimmy stopped his mental dialogue, _looking_ at Thomas. Thomas's skin seemed as though it would be clammy to the touch- he looked as ill as he had when he'd woken up that morning.

"I do wish that Madame Nicodème could have made it to the party, though," Lady Grantham was saying.

Lady D'Abernathy nodded. "Well, she works at some nightclub in the winter and just _won't_ be pried away from London-"

Jimmy noted the odd parallel conversations that so often took place among upstairs and downstairs folk, but he also noted that Thomas had brought his hands to his face. Carson was giving him a deathly stare. It was so odd to see Thomas breaking one of the cardinal rules of serving that Jimmy's heart skipped one frightened beat.

Thomas, disregarding the compulsory obligation to keep one's hands still, clutched at his brow for a moment, his posture slumping forward- as yet he remained unnoticed by everyone at the table- and then he seemed to recover, dropping his hands and straightening up.

_Are you alright?_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas looked over at him- but Jimmy could see that Thomas's eyes were not focused- and suddenly Jimmy felt an odd buzzing in his head, and he had time to think: -_oh shite not now-_

Then several things happened at once: the entire dinner party broke into laughter at an anecdote that the Dowager Countess had related- Jimmy fumbled, dropping a tray of meringue biscuits on the floor as the strange sound of words-behind-glass pounded through his skull- and Thomas, on the far end up the room, collapsed, falling back against the sideboard and then sliding down to the ground, taking half the trays with him.

"Mr. Barrow!" Jimmy said, and ran around the table. In his head he could hear Thomas's voice, for an instant-

_-don't feel well it's too much all together- _

_Did I fall? well, get up- _

_Don't make a spectacle of yourself, please-_

-and then the feeling disappeared as it had before, and Jimmy knelt down next to Thomas, Alfred joining him on the other side.

"Thomas!" Carson was saying sharply, but Thomas was awake and his eyes were open. Lord Grantham had gotten up, and came to stand behind Jimmy. "What's the matter, Barrow? Are you ill?"

"I'm all right," Thomas said, weakly, and held his hands out. Alfred and Jimmy pulled him to his feet. " I apologize for-"

"Nonsense," Lady Grantham was saying. "Robert, you should telephone Doctor Clarkson."

"I will, immediately," Lord Grantham said. Jimmy and Alfred supported Thomas, walking him out of the dining hall.

"Take him to his rooms," Carson was saying, as if that were not what they were obviously going to do. The three of them made it downstairs, with Thomas walking half under his own power and half with their help. Alfred was shooting worried, significant looks at Jimmy from above Thomas's head, but Jimmy ignored him. "What's going on?" Mrs. Hughes asked, approaching them.

"It's Mr. Barrow," Alfred said. "He had some sort of spell."

"Don't let go of my arm," Thomas said, to Jimmy, in an undertone, and Jimmy clutched onto him more firmly. The three of them made it up to Thomas's room, Jimmy opening the door- and he blanched for an instant, seeing both his and Thomas's suitcases, conspicuously next to each other on bed. However Alfred appeared to notice nothing.

"Just- I'm fine," Thomas said, sitting in the chair. Jimmy kept his hand on Thomas's arm, even after he had sat down, until Thomas looked at him and shook his head minutely.

Jimmy wanted to stay, but Carson was calling him. Somehow Jimmy did not get caught out for having dropped dessert- probably because Thomas's fall had created a spectacular mess.

"What did the Doctor say?" Jimmy asked Carson, at the first available opportunity. "Exhaustion," Carson answered, heavily. "Mr. Barrow had been working himself too hard. This holiday could not come at a better time."

"If he's even still up for traveling," Mrs. Hughes added, with a worried frown.

Jimmy was certain that Thomas would've had to be _dead_ in order to be kept from going to London, but he nodded. He stayed up alone, in the servant's hall, until everyone was asleep, practicing his cards until he could figure them rightly about nine times out of ten, in two seconds each. _That should be good enough_, Jimmy thought, nodding. _That's good enough, for..._

For what he wasn't sure. Something. When Carson was finally gone and the hall was empty, Jimmy crept into Thomas's room.

Thomas was sleeping, but he woke when Jimmy sat down beside him. "How bad is it?" Jimmy asked, without preamble, and Thomas came around, looking up at him. "Ah," Thomas said, stretching slightly. "Not so bad." With his right hand Thomas removed the glove from his left- he had fallen asleep with it on.

"But you- you lost consciousness, or something," Jimmy said. "Was it from the telepathy?" Jimmy was trying very hard not to _think_ too loudly, but it was a difficult thing to regulate.

"It was just all too much," Thomas said, vaguely. "Don't worry, Jimmy," he added, answering Jimmy's unspoken fears. "I'm not dying. And we're still going to London."

"Alright," Jimmy said, nodding.

"It was better when you were touching me," Thomas said, after a pause. "It was easier. I could think about you... instead of listening to everything else."

The implications of that were such as Jimmy could not fully process, and so he just smiled his nicest smile, and rubbed Thomas's chest in a gesture meant to soothe one or both of them. "Then I'll have to stay no further away than arm's length for the entire weekend," Jimmy returned, and Thomas's lips turned up into a smile. The split on his lip, in addition to his pallor, made Thomas look acutely similar to the way he'd looked after he'd gotten beaten up for Jimmy. Though it had been a year or more ago, it still gave Jimmy a cold feeling, and he pressed his palms to Thomas's heart. "Everything will be fine," Jimmy said, and, at the same moment- or half a beat after- Thomas said: "Don't worry, Jimmy everything will be alright-"

They looked at one another, and Jimmy laughed, shortly, and layed his head on Thomas's chest.

"What'd Doctor Clarkson say to you? I assume you didn't tell him you can read minds now," Jimmy said, and ran his fingers down Thomas's arms, entwining together the fingers on both of their hands.

"I _hate _Doctor Clarkson," Thomas said, shutting his eyes.

"I thought you worked for him for a while," Jimmy said, and situated himself so that his head was on the pillow.

"Mm," Thomas said, noncomittally. He kept his right hand entwined with Jimmy's left, as if it were a tether that held him to the world of real things. "Sleep now," Jimmy said, as gently as he could, and watched Thomas close his eyes once more.

_Suppose having all of the people in London inside of his head drives him mad?_ Jimmy mused, with a shiver. _He could barely stand to be in the dining room with everyone, and if it gets worse- if it gets worse-_

In his sleep, Thomas shifted, and Jimmy kept hold of his hand, studying the movement of Thomas's eyes behind his closed lids.

For the first time since all of it had happened, Jimmy felt his underlying convictions waver. He had thought that all of it- the voices, the cards, the dreams- was some divine and beautiful mystery to be cherished. It might be frightening, as the ghosts were, but in the end, it would all have a purpose. There _had_ to be a point to it.

_I hope so, anyways,_ Jimmy thought. _It has to be alright. Nothing is going to happen._

Thomas's hand clasped around his like a vow, or an arcane symbol, and Jimmy felt Thomas's pulse in his fingertips. _I won't let anything happen to you,_ Jimmy thought, and he added aloud "Not _ever_," speaking his conviction to the darkened walls.

After a bit Jimmy got his cards off of the desk chair, and held them up with his free hand, one at a time, while he lay in bed. _The eight of clubs. The queen of clubs. The deuce of diamonds._

It did not even matter, anymore, that it was too dark in the room, that Jimmy could not possibly have seen what symbols and numbers the cards really bore. It was not, Jimmy realized, about the cards at all. He _knew_ he was right, deep in his bones he knew, and it strange and starry new parts of his intellect, parts he had never used before.

Jimmy became an architect of dreams- and there, in the dark, with his cards, and his metronome, and Thomas- he lay back, his hand against the hand of the man he loved, and began to form a plan.


	2. Chapter 2

BOOK TWO: ACTIONS

* * *

Thomas dreamed of a fortress wrought with gold. He was in the war again, and they were storming the castle, which shone like a pillar of light in a world of grey, rained-upon cobblestones. He was at the drawbridge, he was at the gate- but Thomas was stopped, each time he tried to press forward, by wounded soldiers, each of them wearing uniforms of a peculiar sky blue.

"Help me," croaked a man who lay, half-eviscerated, on the ground, and Thomas's training forced him to kneel, to at least make the dying man more comfortable.

The final push was starting, and Thomas ran behind the other men, his hands dark with blood. Up they went, through the shining palace, and Thomas saw things he could have never imagined- a staircase wrought entirely of gold, so soft that footsteps left impressions there- birdcages that melted under their own density, trapping the yellow birds within in terrifying rooms that defied dimension- plants the bloomed gold, wallpapers that left swirls of gold leaf in the air as Thomas ran past them, candelabras drooping like trees over-decked with ornaments, clutching golden candles that burned with golden-colored flames-

Thomas came alone to the top of the highest tower, and realized that he was the only one left. The soldiers and the corpses had vanished, and he wanted to turn back- but such is the particular faculty of dreams that he could _not_ turn back, and so he was pressed inexorably forward, into the final room.

In this room smoky light from the dying outside world was turned to the color of butter, and Thomas looked around- but it was empty, save for one figure who sat alone, in the center, his hands to his face.

"Jimmy?" Thomas asked, and stepped forward.

"No!" Jimmy cried, holding out his hands, as if to ward Thomas off. "Don't touch me!"

His tone was so urgent that Thomas halted in his tracks, setting down his medical kit- which had grown unbearably heavy, as if it too were made of gold.

"I didn't know what trouble it would get me into," Jimmy whispered, and traced his hands along the floor, leaving trails of gold in the wake of his fingertips. "I thought I could make things better for us-"

"What's happened?" Thomas asked, and stepped forward again, but the floor gave in, and he fell forward, into a vast darkness, pinpricked with cards, like points of starlight-

* * *

For some reason Thomas's head ached less, this morning. He swam slowly up to consciousness, for once not waking up to an alarm. His head hurt less- but he registered a cramp- not in his left hand, which was typical, but in his right- and he realized that he and Jimmy had slept with their hands joined together. Thomas unwound his fingers from Jimmy's and flexed them painfully, grimacing.

Jimmy was still asleep, and Thomas looked at his face- only at rest was Jimmy stripped of the perpetual air of _apartness_ that hid the truer emotions of his face. In speaking, Jimmy had a tendency towards over-expressiveness that belied insincerity. The was nothing about Jimmy that was exaggerated now- only the vaguest touch of concentration- or concern- at his brow.

_He's worried about me_, Thomas thought, and he could feel from the press of Jimmy's waking mind against his own that it was true.

"Good morning," Jimmy said, tiredly, and opened his eyes. _Thomas are you well?_

"Well enough to travel," Thomas replied. "Now get up."

_Leaving_ the house was a difficult thing to manage. Thomas was beset on all sides with concerned parties asking after his welfare. He worked past Carson, assured Mrs. Hughes, assuaged Anna, tipped his hat to O'Brien- all very normal and healthy and _convincing_-like- even though their assorted thoughts pressed down around his brain, making him feel claustrophobic.

On the train Jimmy peppered him with questions, keeping the sides of their legs pressed together. Thomas was intensely grateful for the contact. The physical touch of Jimmy's body against his own- strange as it was- eased the volume of the thoughts of others, creating a pleasant bubble of mental silence- a place occupied only by himself and Jimmy. _This is insane_, Thomas thought, idly.

"Is tomorrow _really_ your birthday?" Jimmy was asking. Jimmy's face was accusatory, but his emotions on the subject were mainly comprised of curiosity.

"Yes," Thomas said.

"And is that my necktie, in the bottom of your luggage?"

Thomas gritted his teeth. "Yes," he said, after a pause.

"I _knew _it," Jimmy said, triumph sparking through his mind and subsequently through Thomas's.

Thomas looked out the window for a while, until Jimmy tapped him again.

_How far away can you hear somebody's thoughts from?_

"How far away-"

"-Can I hear somebody's thoughts from," Thomas said, dryly finishing Jimmy's question. Jimmy smiled at him. "Right."

"I don't know," Thomas said. "Ten meters. Maybe less. It's much- ah, much _louder_ if they're very close, though," he finished, feeling ridiculous.

Jimmy nodded. "And me?"

"Further. Say twenty meters, now."

"Now?" _It's getting stronger?_

"Yes," Thomas said. "It's not exactly a bad- a bad feeling, with you. With the others it is. But I-"

"But you'd still rather not have it, right? Not even with me?" Jimmy guessed. Thomas nodded again, looking at his hands.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said, after a few moments. "What do you want to do for your birthday?"

"Hmm. Anything. It doesn't matter," Thomas said. He'd never had a holiday with Jimmy, and no idea what to expect. He tried to picture Jimmy as a tourist, accompanying him patiently through the Clockmaker's Museum, or taking a picnic to Kew to admire the Botanic Gardens, and could not.

"I think we should go to that place, The Fig Leaf_ ,_"Jimmy said. "We can get our cards read by Madame Nicodème. And... we can ask her what's going on."

Sometimes, Thomas found, to his amusement- Jimmy really did _not_ think before he spoke. Even with the added privilege of being in on Jimmy's thoughts, Thomas was kept in suspense- Jimmy strung words together out of the air, forming sentences, and when he'd finished he would sit back, to examine his own statement, and see if he agreed with it.

Clearly he'd agreed with himself on this, for after he had said it, Jimmy nodded emphatically, bumping his shoulder against Thomas's. "That's what we'll do," Jimmy said. "She'll have some answers, I _know_ she will." _Yes. She will. You'd better say yes, Thomas._

"Yes, that's fine," Thomas said. "I've never been there."

"I hope it's highly disreputable," Jimmy said, cracking his knuckles. "Perhaps we should go to Limehouse and see if we can't find an opium den."

Thomas smiled. "_That's_ disreputable."

_I'm excited_. "I'm excited," Jimmy said, ducking his head earnestly. The light that shone through the window caught on Jimmy's hair and his eyes, making his expression suddenly luminous. _I wish life could always be-_ "I wish life could always be like this for us," Jimmy said, and leaned forward against Thomas, to get his own view of the window.

"We haven't even _gotten _there yet," Thomas said, amused.

"No, really?" Jimmy replied. _Oh! _Jimmy thought, though Thomas did not know what he was thinking it in relation to- and Jimmy made to whisper in his ear- but leaned back, his eyes narrowing, as if he'd thought better of it.

"What?" Thomas asked.

_We do get to have the same hotel room, right?_ Jimmy thought, his mouth pressed into a straight line. _I want to sleep with you._

"One room, two beds," Thomas said, quietly, and Jimmy nodded agreeably, and said: "Can't be as small as _our_ bed."

"Shh," Thomas said, and Jimmy laughed.

They got off the train at Charing Cross, and Thomas could sense Jimmy's exictement, diamond-bright, and- something else, under it- something that Thomas could not quite feel- a shadowy _something_, beyond his grip.

"You wouldn't be hiding something from me, would you?" Thomas asked Jimmy, trying to keep the unease from his voice.

"Why yes, actually," Jimmy replied easily, his mind flickering with amusement. "But don't _pry_. It's a surprise."

Thomas was careful to walk almost shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimmy. Beyond the bubble of their mental isolation Thomas could vaguely feel the babbling roar of hundreds of people's minds, and he had no desire to experience such a thing firsthand.

"Are you alright?" Jimmy asked, as they elbowed through the crush of people at the doors, holding their luggage up over their heads with an ease that belied their profession. "This is quite the crowd."

"I think I'm fine, as long as you're with me," Thomas said, and felt chagrined at how the statement sounded.

"Charming," Jimmy said, high-handedly, but his expression was soft, and on the sidewalk Jimmy made sure to keep their forearms touching. Thomas hailed a cab, and he and Jimmy climbed in.

"I never thought to ask you," Jimmy said, to him- "where are we staying?"

"Hamish House," Thomas said. "It's just rooms over a pub in Soho Square. But the rooms are nice." Jimmy had let him make all the arrangements- or, Thomas considered, now- perhaps the practical arrangements had not occurred to Jimmy.

"Don't think I won't pay my half," Jimmy said. "For food. Room. Everything. You won't get that over on me."

Thomas gave him a pained look, so Jimmy switched tactics, shutting his mouth and continuing his diatribe in his head. _I hate it when you try to be chivalrous, Thomas. It doesn't suit you and I'm no bloody woman, besides... you're ridiculous, you know... and don't you even open your mouth! I know what you'll say, what you always say, about how I make less than you do, and so-_

Perhaps the telepathy was giving Thomas more insight into the particulars of Jimmy's personality, because an idea struck him, and the put up a hand, stopping Jimmy's internal rant, and fixed his eyes on Jimmy's with an expression of grave seriousness. "But it's really _our_ money, now- isn't it?" Thomas asked, softly.

Jimmy looked back at him for a moment, his lips parted- and then he flushed all the way up to the roots of his hair, and stared at his own hands. "Um. Right. I'm glad you think of it like that, Mr. Ba- _Thomas_," Jimmy said, almost resorting to formalities in his consternation, and blushed darker still. Thomas felt Jimmy's embarrassment, but also some kind of intense gratification underneath. For the first time since he had _met_ Jimmy, Thomas felt, briefly, that he was in possession of the upper hand, and he smiled all the wider for it.

"I mean," Thomas said, lowering his voice, to speak into Jimmy's ear- "if we're really going to spend the rest of our _lives_ together, then why fight about what belongs to both of us?"

Jimmy stared at him for another instant, his eyes wide- and then he squinted. "_Don't_ do that," Jimmy hissed, indignantly, his voice a stage whisper. "It isn't _fair_!"

"I don't know what you mean," Thomas said, innocently.

_Yes, you do, you ass,_ Jimmy thought. _It's very rude to get into someone's head and use their private feelings against them._

The taxi pulled into Soho Square and rolled up to the Hamish House pub. Jimmy hovered, making sure that he'd be the one to tip the driver, and Thomas got their luggage out. "Looks pretty nice," Jimmy said, eyeballing the square. "Lots of clubs." _Think that we can find one where we could dance together?_

"Shouldn't be too hard," Thomas said, and they went inside Hamish House.

The were shown to their rooms, and Jimmy tipped the porter generously at the door. He seemed to have recovered from his earlier embarrassment, but Thomas could still feel the edges of his moods- pleasure, and a touch of discomfiture- but all of this disappeared into blank astonishment when Jimmy finally looked through the door of the room.

"Oh," Jimmy breathed, and Thomas congratulated himself on his good taste- it was a small room, but handsomely appointed, and furnished with two respectably-sized beds.

"Oh," Jimmy said again, dropping his suitcase onto one bed, and flung himself down on the other, burying his face against the pillows.

Jimmy lay still against the bed, breathing in heavy sighs, the only the motion the slight quivering of his shoulders. Thomas walked over to him curiously. "Are you _crying_?" Thomas asked, when he could get no particular thought from Jimmy's head.

"I'm just so happy," Jimmy said, into the pillows, and then turned around, looking up at Thomas, and Thomas almost laughed aloud, seeing that Jimmy's eyes, were, in fact, bright with unshed tears. "A _real_ bed. We're going to be _comfortable_."

"I've never seen such a display from you before," Thomas said, smirking. "Of everything it could've been, it's a _bed_ that moves you to tears."

"I can be moved to tears, if it's the right thing," Jimmy retorted. "Like when those blokes smashed your face?"

"You _cried_ over me?" Thomas asked.

"No," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "But I'd have cried for sure if it'd been _my_ face they smashed." Then he gave Thomas a wicked look, putting up his hands in mock defense, and Thomas grabbed his forearms, laughing. They grappled breathlessly for a few moments on the bed, knocking pillows to the floor, before Jimmy leaned forward, to capture Thomas's mouth in a kiss. _Oh yes I do like that-_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas, shivering, caught the heady rush of Jimmy's desire.

"Hm," Jimmy said, and swung his legs deftly over Thomas, wrestling him down to the bed. Thomas let him do it, and they kissed for long moments more, until Jimmy leaned back, panting. "Stop me," he said, looking intently at Thomas. "I want love but I also want to go out on the town."

"Town first, love later," Thomas said, over the beating of his own heart, and found his cigarettes.

It was a mild enough day, for November, and they went walking through the crowded avenues towards Hyde Park. "It's a bit like Downton's grounds, but uglier," Jimmy observed, as they strolled along the banks of the Serpentine. "And yet with so many more interesting things to look at-" Jimmy went on, surreptitiously pointing towards a pair of stylish dressed young men. "Are they a couple?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "Why don't you go over and ask them?" "  
"Well I don't have to, do I?" Jimmy retorted, shielding his eyes from the sun. "I'm in the company of a _mind reader_."

Thomas sighed, and took a step away from Jimmy, far enough to be out of their mental- shield, or whatever it was that they had- and he was almost knocked flat on his back.

The voices came in a wave, the meanderings and musings and terrible pains and exclamations of every soul within a certain distance from Thomas- but it _felt_- it felt like everybody in the whole _world_-

"Ah," Thomas said, and stumbled back, against Jimmy. "Don't _do_ that, I wasn't _serious_!" Jimmy said, harshly, and Thomas felt Jimmy's worry wrap around him. Any of Jimmy's emotions were infinitely more tolerable than the combined thoughts of the public, though, and Thomas stood gratefully against him, their shoulders touching in a way subtle enough to never be thought of as impropriety.

Thomas tried to calm the frantic pace of his own heart, and then, taking a breath, put his thoughts in order. "I've got it," he said, gesturing for Jimmy's attention, and smoothed back his own hair.

"You've got-" Jimmy looked up at him curiously. "What?"

"Those two," Thomas said, pointing slyly at the men Jimmy had asked about- "are brothers. The one in the cap is romancing the taller brother's wife- he's older- _Jules_, his name is- and Jules knows but doesn't care- he has a mistress- and that bloke following behind them- he's called Rollo the Fox- he's a pickpocket-"

"A pickpocket?" Jimmy asked, staring at Thomas with an expression of abject fascination. "Shh," Thomas said. "Wouldn't want to upset the natural order."

"Right," Jimmy said, darting a look at Rollo. "He seems overdressed, for a pickpocket."

"I suspect he can afford it," Thomas said. They walked on.

_He really looks better, doesn't he?_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas turned, to find Jimmy studying him as they walked. "London agrees with you," Jimmy said. "Let's not go back."

"The solution to my predicament isn't just to run away," Thomas said, and then pondered what he had said, surprised at himself.

"Tell me what the solution is, then," Jimmy replied.

"I don't know," Thomas said. "We'll have to ask the medium."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "As if I'd believe that _you_ believe that she has the answer."

"I'm getting fairly desperate, actually," Thomas said. He'd meant it to come out lightly, but the sentence was weighty even to his ears, and Jimmy frowned. _I'll get it all sorted, you'll see- _Jimmy thought, and Thomas had that vague impression from Jimmy, again- a shape just out of his sight- a plan he couldn't grasp-

"What exactly _is_ this surprise you've got planned?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy shrugged, stretching elaborately. "You'll _see_," he told Thomas, mysteriously.

"That's not at all reassuring," Thomas said.

"Oh, I didn't know it was my job to go around reassuring you," Jimmy said, clasping his hands to his chest. "I thought I was put on this earth to make sure you had a bit of fun before you grew old and settled into a Carson-like existence of rigorous dullness."

"We'll see," Thomas said, with a superior look, and Jimmy dropped his hands. "What's that mean?"

"I don't know," Thomas said, and lit a cigarette. "But I think I've probably had a bit more fun in my life than _you _could handle."

_Why, you-_ Jimmy thought, and casually bumped into Thomas. "You're baiting me," Jimmy said, with false disapproval etched all over his animated features. "And I won't be _baited_, Mr. Barrow. I"ll toss you right into this stinking river."

"Hmm," Thomas said, as they walked over a stone bridge. "It's strange..." he began, and then trailed off. Jimmy tilted his head, curiously. "What?"

"I can... _read _all of these people," Thomas said, still feeling embarrassed for discussing the subject with such matter-of-factness. "I can see so many personal things about them- so easily- and yet. Ah, we're here, _together_, in this odd mental- room, or personal space, or something- some sort of thing that nobody else can get into."

"Yes," Jimmy said. "And?"

"And you're still harder to read than anybody else. I can hear you- but it only goes down to a certain depth with you, y'see." Not like it was with other people- Thomas felt as though he could see into the most secret hearts of strangers. It left him feeling vaguely unclean. But with Jimmy, only his topmost thoughts or emotions escaped into Thomas's awareness.

Thomas paused, thinking he had not articulated himself well enough- but Jimmy was nodding, in unsurprised agreement. "That makes sense," Jimmy said. "I've always sort of thought that about myself- I keep a bit apart." _Better that way,_ Jimmy added, without speaking.

"You are hard to read," Thomas said.

"And you're easy," Jimmy said. "But you're a better liar than me. I wonder why."

"Practice," Thomas said, and Jimmy thought: _Practice._ The thought had the solemnity of a vow.

"You keeping up with your cards, then?" Thomas asked.

"Most definitely," Jimmy answered, seriously.

They walked out onto the street, and Jimmy grabbed Thomas's sleeve, pointing. "Let's go into the theatre," Jimmy said. "I don't want to actually sit through a picture, but just see the lobby. I bet Ripon's got nothing on a London theatre."

The entrance hall of the theatre was grand, all done in red velvet, and when Jimmy went to the counter Thomas did not step with him quickly enough, and for a moment the collective feelings of the theatregoers overwhelmed him. _Comedy to the left,_ Thomas thought, dizzily,_ and all that sadness to the right- it has to be a tragedy-_

"-sorry," Jimmy said, grabbing Thomas's shoulder. "Keep up, will you?"

Thomas nodded, rubbing his temples. "Hmm," Jimmy said, reading off the picture titles. "_Brawn of the North. Dr. Jack. Beyond the Rocks-_ that one has Valentino, he's everywhere now. There's nothing that grabs me, especially when we could be out talking to one another instead-"

Jimmy broke off, suddenly, and turned to the counter again, like a man in a trance.

"What are those?" Jimmy asked the girl at the counter, who blushed when she saw him. _My goodness_, the girl thought, and Thomas heard it very clearly, and stifled a smile.

"Those," Jimmy said, flashing her a smile. "There."

"Oh-" the girl, flustered, picked out a deck of cards, showing it to Jimmy. "You get this or a figurine with each ticket you buy for _Brawn of the North_."

"I'll take a ticket and the cards," Jimmy said, turning the box over significantly in his hand. _Look, _he commanded Thomas, and Thomas took the blue box. The color reminded him of something- a dream, perhaps, and Thomas studied the drawing, which was of a dog, emblazoned over with the word 'Strongheart'.

"What do they mean? They're odd cards," Jimmy said, making the counter girl almost incapable of completing the transaction. "Um, they're for Strongheart. You know, the canine actor. He's the star of the movie."

"Thank you," Jimmy said, and laid his ticket down on the counter. "Give that to some kid who's trying to sneak in," Jimmy said, and motioned to Thomas that they should exit.

"I _told_ you my dreams were portentous!" Jimmy said, as they walked out the door. "Give those to me."

Thomas handed him off the cards, and Jimmy took them out of their box, shuffling them as they walked. "They're perfect," Jimmy said, happily. _Just like my dreams-_

"That was in my dreams, too," Thomas said. "That word, or- phrase: 'Strong heart'."

"You _are_ having the portentous dreams," Jimmy said, turning the cards over and over.

"I've been having vivid _nightmares_, more like," Thomas said. "And unless you're going to turn into King Midas and waltz me through your golden palace, I doubt they're portentous."

"Are you sure they're nightmares?" Jimmy asked, laughing.

"You are familiar with the story of King Midas, yes?" Thomas asked.

"Right," Jimmy said, ignoring the jibe. "I'm starved. Let's get some food." _I'm so happy I found my cards, Thomas! Everything's coming together!_

"Mmm," Thomas said, noncomittally. Thomas did not feel like everything was coming together- in fact, he felt that he was precariously close to falling apart. _If I didn't have you around, Jimmy_, _I'd probably be in a sanitarium by now,_ Thomas thought, and then felt suddenly uneasy. Of course he loved Jimmy- painfully, awfully- in a way that seemed never to go away. Thomas had hoped that when they'd begun to- ah, have _relations_- the intensity of his physical and emotional desires would abate somewhat. That was how such things typically worked. But Jimmy had clung to that vaulted position in his heart with tenacity- and yet effortlessly, too- without trying- just by being as he was.

But Thomas worried that if his strange affliction did not lessen or disappear, Jimmy would get tired of caring for him. What kind of life or respite could you have, when you were forced to be _arm's length_ from someone all of the time? Every time you went to a party, or a shop, or a restaurant? How would Thomas manage _employment_? A very specialized type of employment, that- 'I'll do an excellent job, sir, if only you let this man follow me everywhere I go so that I don't suffer a nervous collapse.'

And Jimmy was not a patient person. _I know he loves me now_, Thomas thought, lighting a cigarette. _Because I can feel it. But if this keeps up, how long until he can't stand the sight of me?_

"These cards are going to be tremendously lucky, I can tell," Jimmy said, and pinched his fingers together in the air in front of Thomas's face. "Give me a cigarette."

Thomas handed him a cigarette, and thought of Lieutenant Courtenay, who would have been blind and needed a helper always. _I could've done that_, Thomas thought. _I was prepared to take care of him after only a week. But Jimmy- I think if I can't solve this then he'll leave me, eventually. And he'll hate me before he goes. And I'll _feel_ it- every second of his resentment, of his love curdling into loathing-_

The cigarette dropped from Jimmy's hand, and he touched his fingers to his brow, taking a shaking breath. Thomas turned to him, concerned, and Jimmy put his hands up, to grab the lapel of Thomas's coat- but then he remembered himself and stopped, tucking his hands into his own pockets. Thomas felt unhappiness- _pain_?- some unpleasant emotion emanating from the other man.

"Don't _do_ that," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "I _heard_ that."

"Heard my-"

"Yes," Jimmy said, cutting him off. "Don't think all that sad maudlin stuff about how I'll _leave_ you. I'll never leave you." _I'm a better man than I think you think I am. I'm a good man for _you_, anyways, if for nothing else._

"I wasn't-" Thomas stared to lie, but Jimmy cut him off. "Maybe I can show you how I feel," Jimmy said, his gaze intent- Thomas shifted uncomfortably under the bright pressure of his eyes- and Jimmy reached out, gripping the sleeve of his coat, and-

-suddenly Thomas was bombarded by _images-_

_-Thomas naked, kissing his throat and Thomas smiling and Thomas when they first met and a projection screen with a picture playing on it, of horse-drawn carriages retreating into a void in the sky- _and other things, older things_- a book without a title, a metronome that was larger than the hands holding it- and ivory keys like stars- sheet music for Chopin's- third sonata- a child's piano primer, printed with the melody for 'Ode to Joy'-_

Thomas staggered, and then caught himself, dropping his wrist. He looked around to see if the odd tableau they'd made had aroused suspicion, but nobody even glanced at them. "Do you _see _what I mean?" Jimmy asked, still pinning Thomas's eyes with his own.

"H-how did you _do_ that?" Thomas asked, wonderingly. "How did you give me those- pictures?"

Jimmy shrugged. "It's the only way I could think of. It's _all _pictures, you know. The pictures on the cards- I've been practicing and I'm shite when it comes to eloquence, so-" Jimmy's mouth twisted, and Thomas felt that he had upset Jimmy with his thoughts of Courtenay, and of Jimmy's eventual abandonment of him. "Did it work, though? Do you see?"

It had been more of an impressive reel of film to Thomas than a divine emotional revelation, and he shook his head. "I got your pictures, but not the feelings you put into to them."

"Damn!" Jimmy said, and raked one hand through his hair in supreme irritation. "Damn, damn, damn. God, Thomas, can't you just- _infer_, or something? I don't want you feeling so bloody insecure all the time."

Thomas had no reply for that, and they walked in silence for a moment. He could feel Jimmy's frustration.

"I know what I want for my birthday," Thomas said, after a bit. Jimmy looked over at him interestedly. "What?"

"I want to take you to a posh restaurant," Thomas said, and Jimmy nodded agreement. "-and I want you to let me buy you dinner," Thomas added, and Jimmy's face fell.

"If it's _our money_," Jimmy said, sourly, "then it should hardly matter if I pay my side or not."

"Exactly," Thomas agreed, with a smirk. "Anyway, it's the gift I want."

"Oh, _fine_," Jimmy said, and reached up, knocking Thomas's hat off of his head. Thomas caught it elegantly, before it could hit the ground, and he heard Jimmy think- _When he does things like that it makes me want to go to bed with him- _and Thomas felt a rush of desire that did not belong to him move through his own body.

"Can you still hear my, ah, thoughts?" Thomas asked, willing away the color that had risen in his face.

"No-" Jimmy said. "Just a bit here and there. I think I'm getting better at it, though. I have to practice listening between the words."

That was cryptic. Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "You can _control_ when it happens?"

"Well... no, not really," Jimmy admitted. "But I'm _working_ on it."

_You're always working on something_, Thomas thought, affectionately.

He brought Jimmy to the Hotel Cecil, and for a moment they stood outside of the magnificent building like the tourists they were, gawking at it.

"Makes Downton look rather pedestrian, doesn't it?" Jimmy asked.

"I prefer Downton, actually," Thomas said, and Jimmy scoffed at him. "Where this misguided loyalty comes from, I'll never know," Jimmy retorted but Thomas considered the statement seriously.

"I don't know, either," Thomas said, after a pause. "I suppose it's probably because I've spent a third of my life there. It's... home. Being a servant is a bit like living forever at a boarding school. An extended childhood. One day I'll leave, but-"

"-but I'm not _ready_ to leave yet, so please stop trying to get us fired, Jimmy!" Jimmy interjected, rolling his eyes. "I'm _not_ trying to get us fired, as I said. I'm just trying to find-"

"-a happy medium," Thomas said, imitating the way that Jimmy had interrupted him, and adding a few overdramatic eyerolls of his own.

"Oh," Jimmy said, laughing a bit. He looked into Thomas's face. "This is hopeless," Jimmy said, but he thought: _I love you. _"Come on, before I perish from hunger."

The Hotel Cecil was every bit as grand as Thomas had hoped it would be. The main room of the restaurant was filled with gleaming white pillars. The ceilings went up over their heads into some vast above-space, punctuated by friezes of the most tasteful blue, and the rose carpet underfoot was so plush that Thomas's feet sank into it at every step. Jimmy walked in front of him, following the waiter to their tables, and he kept giving Thomas significant looks of awe over his shoulder. _Well chosen,_ Jimmy thought. _I'm suitably impressed. You're allowed to have your way with me later._

Thomas kept the amusement off of his face while he thanked the waiter, and glanced at the menu.

"It's so upscale," Jimmy said, "that I feel like we should be working."

"I know," Thomas said.

"Look at that poor fellow, he can't even hold a tray correctly," Jimmy said, pointing out a specific waiter. "I want to go over and help him."

"You do not," Thomas said.

"Well, no," Jimmy said. "It's exciting to have people serving _us_, for a change." He stopped speaking for a moment, reading the menu, and suddenly Thomas got from him a distinct feeling of alarm. "What?" Thomas asked, looking up at him sharply.

"Dinner is _ten shillings sixpence!" _Jimmy said, looking quite taken aback. "For _one_ person."

"That's not so bad," Thomas said, loftily. "But you're lucky I'm paying."

"Um, _Sole de la Francise_. There's only one thing on this menu," Jimmy said. "For food, not liquor, thank God. There's a grand variety of liquor." Underneath the table Jimmy pressed his knees against Thomas's. _Are you doing alright?_ Jimmy asked him, internally, and Thomas nodded, surveying the crowded restaurant. "Yes. I'm fine. I'll have a drink, though."

"Well, you can be _fine _and still have a drink," Jimmy mumbled, bumping his feet against Thomas's playfully. "You'll be thirty-four, right?"

"It typically follows thirty-three," Thomas said. Someone had absconded with their table's ashtray, and he got up, to snatch one from another table. For a moment, _thoughts_ from two hundred revelers clutched at him, but Thomas stepped back, quickly, sliding into the safety of his chair and the press of Jimmy's legs underneath the tablecloth.

"I don't like it," Jimmy said. "This whole time we've been seven years apart, and now it's eight again. Seems counterproductive." Jimmy's _Strongheart_ cards appeared in his hands like a magic trick, and he laid them next to his place setting.

"It's not as though it actually makes the amount of _time_ change," Thomas said.

"I can't imagine you walking this earth for seven and one-half years before I was born," Jimmy said, taking Thomas's cigarette out of his hand and bringing it to his own lips. _Whatever did you do without me?_

"Oh, pined away, mostly," Thomas said. The waiter came back, and they ordered drinks, and the obligatory fish dinner. "I hope it's good," Jimmy said, "since we haven't any other choice."

"It's drowned in Chablis. It will be passable at least," Thomas said, and Jimmy looked away behind him, taking in the spectacle of the restaurant. "How did you ever hear of this place?" Jimmy asked.

"I read an article about it in the paper, a long time ago," Thomas said.

"And you thought of taking me here?" Jimmy asked. The waiter came back, and they accepted their drinks. Jimmy sipped his Sidecar with exaggerated restraint, and Thomas laughed. "Well?" Jimmy asked. _You said I was stupid when I was drunk, _Jimmy thought, and said: "I have to keep an _eye_ on you and I can't be stupid if I'm to do it properly."

Thomas felt a feeling of angry helplessness overwhelm him: he didn't _want_ to be in such a position- vulnerable, helpless, intellectually compromised. He didn't _want_ to rely on Jimmy. He wanted to enjoy himself and not be a burden. The frustration must have been evident in his expression, because Jimmy's features grew gentler, and under the table he placed a comforting hand on Thomas's knee. _Don't,_ Jimmy's mind said, and his voice echoed it. "Don't. Read my brain if you doubt that I've ever been happier. In my whole life."

"I've been happier," Thomas grumbled, and it was true- but it also wasn't.

Before Thomas could annoy himself by thinking overly poetic thoughts, dinner was served. Jimmy ate with abandon, praising the food. "Not that I'd expect anything less, it costs a small fortune," Jimmy added. "A very small fortune," Thomas said, and Jimmy waved his fork at him. "Alright, you've swept me off my feet. Or some other womanly sentiment. Well done. Now we've seen the city. I want to, um, go back to the room with the bed. The _bedroom_." As if to make his point, Jimmy squeezed one of Thomas's knees between both his own. "And we'll see the Madame tomorrow."

A man bumped elbows with Thomas as they left, and Thomas caught the train of his thoughts-_ Everything I had, everything I had- _the man thought, so unhappily that Thomas turned to look after him.

"What?" Jimmy asked. Thomas shook his head. "I hate this," Thomas said, by way of an answer. "It's very tiring."

"Maybe you just have to get used to it," Jimmy said, meditatively, and Thomas scoffed at him.

When they got back to their room at Hamish House, Jimmy began furiously unpacking, to what end Thomas could not determine, even with telepathy. Thomas felt as if he were covered in grime- whether from the traveling or from the many people's minds he had encounter, he couldn't be sure- and he went to the washroom to clean himself up.

Thomas examined himself in the small mirror that sat atop the the washroom's modest vanity, looking at his face with dissatisfaction. The dark patches under his lower lids held more color than his eyes themselves, and emphasized their unevenness. Something about the pull of his flesh across his cheekbones made his face look abnormally gaunt. _Old_, Thomas thought, _I look old and strange and sick_. He wondered what Jimmy could possibly see in him- and thought of the images that Jimmy had given to him earlier in the day. The way he looked in Jimmy's head bore almost no resemblance to the man who stared back at Thomas from the mirror.

Thomas stripped off his shirt and washed himself over the sink's basin, enjoying the lavatory, which was far more luxurious than the cramped one he shared with all the other male staff at Downton. _There it is!_ Jimmy thought, from the bedroom, and a moment later the door opened, and Jimmy walked in, holding a bottle of second-rate whiskey.

"You packed that?" Thomas asked, dryly, and Jimmy nodded, and took a long drink from the bottle. "Cheers," Jimmy said, setting the bottle down carelessly on the vanity. He looked Thomas up and down, intently, and Thomas could feel Jimmy's appreciation. "You're quite nice," Jimmy said. _To look at, that is._

"Thank you," Thomas said, his voice sounding perfectly casual. Jimmy unbuttoned his trousers with one hand, swigging alcohol from the bottle with the other, and then came to stand next to Thomas, over the toilet.

"My blushes," Thomas, said, not looking at Jimmy, who laughed. "Get used to it," Jimmy said. "When we have our own place to live you'll never have such a thing as personal space ever again. That includes using the loo at the same time."

"So much to look forward to," Thomas said, covering his embarrassment, and Jimmy flushed the toilet and laughed, pushing Thomas lightly so that he could have his turn at the sink. "Here, catch this," Jimmy said, and pulled off his shirt, chucking it at Thomas's head. The shirtsleeves brushed against Thomas's face as he caught it, and he inhaled, smelling Jimmy's particular scent on the cloth, and felt a spike of desire in his stomach. When he looked up again, Jimmy was studying him intently, and Thomas could read Jimmy's mood as easily as if he had been reading the paper._ I want you,_ Jimmy thought, but Thomas knew it so clearly that even the _thought_ was redundant. Jimmy's trousers were still unbuttoned, and they hung low on his hips, revealing white fabric underneath.

"Kiss me," Jimmy commanded, and Thomas only had an instant to appreciate how Jimmy looked walking towards him before Jimmy had pressed himself against Thomas's chest and looped his arms around Thomas's neck, pulling him down, so that their lips met. "Mmm," Jimmy said, and Thomas felt his own arousal, but also Jimmy's- a hot surge of longing that only added to the ache of his own body.

Jimmy bit down on Thomas's split lip- it was on its way to being healed, but still the feeling brought with it the smallest whisper of pain, and Thomas pressed one hand to the bare skin at the small of Jimmy's back, and the other hand to Jimmy's shoulder, holding him still as they kissed.

_Yes, that's perfect_, Jimmy thought- _just like that-_ he made a small sound, pulling his mouth away from Thomas's. Jimmy regarded him for a moment with no thoughts at all that Thomas could pick up on- Thomas could hear nothing, save for the beating of his own heart, and feel nothing, except for desire. He had an erection, and Jimmy looked down, his gaze dark, and rubbed his hands against the front of Thomas's trousers.

"This is the only thing that works for me," Jimmy mumbled, applying pressure with his fingertips. Thomas's breath hitched doubly with desire- both his own, and Jimmy's. "Just you wanting me. Us together. I don't even do- _that_, when I'm alone," Jimmy went on, his voice heavy with arousal. "I know you do, but I hardly ever..."

Thomas could sense Jimmy gathering his courage for something- but he didn't know what- and Jimmy grabbed his right hand, kissing his palm. Thomas watched him, scarcely breathing, and Jimmy drew two of Thomas's fingers into his mouth, grazing them with his teeth.

"Ah," Thomas said, trying to keep himself composed, and Jimmy sucked harder, for a moment, and then dropped Thomas's hand. _ Yes, oh, yes,_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas had to keep his own lips from forming the words of Jimmy's thoughts.

Jimmy pushed his pants and trousers down to his ankles, and very deliberately turned away from Thomas, pressing his body against the sink. Thomas's breath hitched at the sight of Jimmy's body, and in his head he heard Jimmy say: _ Put your fingers in me- I want that-_

Thomas knew that Jimmy was ill-at-ease when they were not facing one another, but before he could protest, Jimmy said, aloud: "Do it now. Come _on_." His voice was tight, and Thomas was touched by Jimmy's anxiety, but also by an intense wash of his desire. _I need you to know,_ Jimmy thought. -_oh do it now please-_

"Yes," Thomas said, and wrapped his left arm around Jimmy's waist, pressing a kiss to his shoulderblade. Jimmy's shoulders were shaking with tension- or arousal, Thomas felt both- and he stroked his left hand all of the way down Jimmy's back. "Come on," Jimmy said, through gritted teeth. His hands gripped the porcelain edge of the sink so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

_"Mm_mph, _ah_," Jimmy hissed, as Thomas pushed a finger inside of him, and moved back, gently, against Thomas's hand. "Thomas," he said, thickly. "Do another, please."

Thomas _felt_ it- not just the emotions that Jimmy felt, but also the physical sensation, and it was _strong_, so strong that he almost could not keep going, but he did anyways, adding a second trembling finger, and feeling what it did to Jimmy as he did it. "Yes," Jimmy said, shallowly, his hips rocking back and forth. _Oh god yes Thomas that- like that-_

"Hn. Alright, yes," Thomas said, kissing Jimmy's neck- and he felt what Jimmy felt, how his lips set off sparks of sensation against Jimmy's skin and how his fingers inside Jimmy burned like fire-

_I'm going to come just from touching him_, Thomas thought, and tried to force himself to breathe more evenly. Jimmy's body was shaking uncontrollably, and he ground his hips back against Thomas's hand. "Please," Jimmy said- "oh- _hell -_oh-please" _please please yes Thomas I love you just do it to me oh I-_

"Wait," Jimmy said, and reached back, grabbing Thomas's hand. Thomas stilled the movements of his fingers, and Jimmy pulled his hand away roughly, so that they both winced at Jimmy's discomfort. "Ah," Thomas said, taking a few steadying breaths. "Be careful with yourself."

"I _am_," Jimmy said, brashly, and turned to kiss Thomas. "I was just going to- if we kept doing that- and I want to be in the amazing bed-"

Thomas somehow found the breath to laugh. "I don't want to have to share your heart with a bed," Thomas said. "Well, you have to, so get used to it," Jimmy answered, unevenly, and leaned forward, his erection pressing insistently again Thomas's thigh. Jimmy pushed up against Thomas firmly, his face a mask of concentration, and Thomas could not keep himself from making some sound of arousal at what Jimmy's feelings conveyed to him. "Mmm," Jimmy said, resting his hands against Thomas's hips and grinding against his leg for a long moment, his brow furrowed in such a way that Thomas had to kiss his face. "_Shite_," Jimmy swore, and pushed Thomas back a step. "Yes. The bed. Before I-" He took a step away from Thomas as if it were extremely difficult to do so, kicking his pants off of his feet as he walked into the other room, and sat down on the bed.

Thomas took a few steps after him, and then paused in the middle of the room. Jimmy, lust making his movements jerky, pulled back the comforter and climbed under it. "Ah," Thomas gasped, involuntarily, as he felt what Jimmy felt- the touch of the blankets against his painfully aroused body, dragging over bare skin. "Come on," Jimmy said, shakily, with that odd serious look he sometimes got on his face- as though things were very dire.

Thomas, only clothed from the waist down, took off the remainder of what he wore, and got into the bed. For a moment they faced each other, and Jimmy's eyes searched his face. _Okay,_ Jimmy thought- Thomas experienced each beat of his wildly hammering heart- and then Jimmy climbed half atop him, pressing his lips all over Thomas's face, on his mouth, and on the lines of his jaw.

Thomas brought his palms to the sides of Jimmy's face, holding him still and kissing his mouth, and Jimmy grabbed his shoulder and rolled backwards, so that it was Thomas who ended up on top of him. "Move," Jimmy said, his eyes open. Thomas pressed his hips down, pushing his abdomen against Jimmy's erection, and Jimmy moaned. _Oh, yes- _"yes, move like- like that I love you-_ah-_ you're beautiful- you know I -_ah- _love to see you-"_ I love you Thomas-_

Jimmy went on- his words interchangeable whether they were unspoken or said aloud- but Thomas could barely listen to him. He felt his own pleasure, but also he felt the pressure of his body against Jimmy's and how it made _Jimmy_ feel, and how it was too much to bear-

"Mmm," Jimmy said, into his ear, and reached up, grabbing Thomas's right hand. "Do it again," Jimmy said, hoarsely. _Your fingers-_

"Alright," Thomas said, though he didn't know how he could do anything, shaking as he was, and Jimmy turned onto his side, facing away from Thomas. "You don't need to face away," Thomas said, and Jimmy reached backwards, to briefly place his arms against Thomas's side. _I liked what we did the other night,_ Jimmy thought, not looking around at him, so Thomas could see only the side of his face and the rapid motions of his shoulders as he breathed. _But it made me nervous. I want it like that, though, so just do it and don't talk about it. I'm embarrassed._

Thomas felt a pain in his chest that was not entirely physical, and he leaned over, kissing Jimmy's cheek, trying to convey the intensity of his love for the other man, and Jimmy tilted his mouth towards Thomas, meeting him. When their lips touched, Thomas was accosted by a wave of images that Jimmy projected outwards- _The metronome on the bureau, Jimmy staring down the length of his own body as Thomas kissed a trail down his stomach- Thomas watching him as he got dressed, Thomas across the room- the strange pleasure-pain on Thomas's face as Jimmy moved inside him, Thomas's eyes on him in a corridor, Thomas laying over him, in their narrow bed- _

_Do I really look at him like that?_ Thomas thought, wondering at the intensity of the expressions on his own face. "You don't need to give me pictures of _myself_," Thomas said, kissing Jimmy's ear. "We're not _all _narcissists here."

"Liar, liar- touch me- you liar-" Jimmy mumbled, grinding back against him. _Come on Thomas don't make me beg-_

"Yes, yes," Thomas said, soothingly- it was difficult to keep his voice even at all, so acute were the sensations that ran through Jimmy and into his own body- but he stroked his hand down Jimmy's back. "Touch me with your rough hand," Jimmy said, tightly, and Thomas wrapped his left hand around Jimmy's erection. "_Ahhhn_- ah-" Jimmy said. _God yes like that- feels so good-_

Thomas pushed the fingers of his right hand inside Jimmy once more, and Jimmy let out a strangled sound. "Shh," Thomas said, and started to move his hands back and forth, match the rhythm on both. "I'm being bloody _quiet_," Jimmy hissed, apparently unaware of the sounds he'd been making. "Oh Thomas I can't get away from the feeling-" Jimmy added, in a choked voice, and rocked back and forth against both of Thomas's hands, his face distorted by desire. "_Oh-" _Jimmy said, and Thomas realized that he had said it at the same time- no, that he was the _only_ one who had said it- that he was saying what Jimmy was _thinking_ without even realizing it- he could feel his touch inside of Jimmy, and he used the knowledge, doing everything that felt the best, until Jimmy could not keep silent anymore, and groaned into the palm of his own hand, barely moving at all, so intense were the sensations-

_Stop,_ Jimmy thought, frantically- _Stop, oh stop-_ and Thomas was afraid that he had pushed too far- Jimmy always got uncomfortable when it came to- trust, or vulnerability or something- Thomas couldn't think of the words, he was too aroused- but he pulled his fingers carefully away, and dropped his hands. Jimmy rolled over towards him immediately, and wrapped their bodies together, kissing Thomas with frantic abandon, as though soon he were going to be told to stop. One of Jimmy's hands slid down Thomas's body, wrapping around his penis and squeezing. "Hn, _yes_," Thomas said- or maybe Jimmy said it, he couldn't be sure anymore- and he touched Jimmy in return, mirroring his movements. At his touch, Jimmy's eyes flew open. He said something indeterminate into Thomas's mouth, and sped up the pace of his hand. _God yes I'm going to- don't make me wait- oh, please I think I'm dying I need you so much-_

"I need you too, Jimmy," Thomas bit out. Jimmy's heart was hammering in his head, an instant before or after his own heartbeat- and all he could understand were the dual sensations of his hand on Jimmy and Jimmy's hand on him-

"Hhh-" Jimmy inhaled loudly, pushing his hips forcefully into Thomas's hand. They lay facing each other, and Thomas could see that Jimmy's face was flushed, and his chest was blotchy with color. Jimmy looked down for a moment at Thomas's hand on his erection, his lips parted- and then Jimmy rolled his head back, his eyes falling shut, his face twisting with effort, and his grip on Thomas's hardon tightened significantly, straying almost to the point of discomfort, making Thomas moan- and though he wouldn't ordinarily have been so rough, he mirrored the touch on Jimmy's penis, because he _knew_ that it was what Jimmy wanted-

Jimmy crushed their mouth together again, so that Thomas could scarcely keep track of what was going on- and the sensations overwhelmed Thomas, so that he could on breathe or think or even come. "I _can't_-" Thomas whispered, caught on the point of completion, _needing_ to and being unable to- Jimmy's hand against him was too much, and it _hurt_, so intense was the severity of his need. Thomas pulled back, and grabbed Jimmy's hand. "Stop," he rasped out, and Jimmy, with a determined expression, only increased his pace for a moment, so that Thomas had to pry his hand away. _"Wait_," Jimmy moaned, in a voice that sounded very little like his normal tones- "Oh, _please, _don't stop-"

"I can't do it like that," Thomas ground out from between his teeth. His body was shaking. It was a struggle to form words at all. "I- ah, I think- don't touch me. Just let me touch you."

"What?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas read concern from him, though it was still overshadowed by lust. "The telepathy?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas nodded, moving his hand against Jimmy's erection. "_Oh,"_ Jimmy said, and thrust forward, again and again, his thoughts half-mad, delirious with lust- _can you feel that Thomas can you it feels so good I'm going to come feel it with me feel it, oh, please-_

"I _can't_-" Jimmy said- he said it as Thomas _thought_ it- and he grabbed Thomas's shoulder, his fingers digging into Thomas's skin, and then let out a low sound, words falling from his lips- "I, _ah_, oh, okay, now, yes, _god-"_ and he came, and Thomas felt it but also _felt_ it, and groaned, coming without being touched at all, so that they finished at the same time.

"Uh," Jimmy muttered, and pushed Thomas onto his back so that he could lay across his chest. "I was there with you," Jimmy said, into his ear. Jimmy's breath still came in gasps, and he shook against Thomas. "I was there with you and you were there with me. That was-" Jimmy took a deep, shuddering breath. "You're not going to pretend it isn't happening anymore, are you?"

"No," Thomas said. He wanted a cigarette, but not enough to move. Jimmy kissed his cheek indelicately, and ruffled his hair. "Get up," Jimmy said. "I want a bath."

"Have one, then," Thomas said, carelessly. "At least no one will come knocking on the door telling you that you've taken too long."

"No, I want you to come as well," Jimmy said, sitting up. "No," Thomas said, flatly. "I'm going to sleep."

"Please, we couldn't _ever_ otherwise," Jimmy said. Even when he begged his tone was more challenging than groveling, and Thomas smiled despite himself. "No. It's ridiculous."

"You're giving in, I can _feel_ it," Jimmy said, significantly, and from his brain he offered up a memory to Thomas- a vivid one, of an enormous old-style washtub and a fire crackling merrily in some hearth, while through the room wove the strains of a piano, played sweetly and with expert skill. Then the picture was gone, and Thomas blinked, realizing only after it was done that the tub had looked so large because Jimmy had been so small in the memory. _Please_, Jimmy thought, looking him full in the face, and Thomas gave in. "Fine," he said, taking Jimmy's hand and climbing to his feet. "I doubt we'll both fit."

"We'll _fit_," Jimmy said, snickering at his own innuendo. "It's _big _enough." Thomas laughed, too, and followed him.

Jimmy filled the tub with-too hot water, exactly as Thomas would have chosen it, and then stuck a foot in and pulled it back out, grimacing. "It needs to cool off."

"It's perfect," Thomas said, and climbed in, slipping almost underneath the water- his reservations about such odd intimacies forgotten, for a moment, because he was so comfortable.

Jimmy made a face, hovering just next to the tub, and then climbed in sloppily, stepping on Thomas's legs and hissing at the temperature of the water. "Budge up, will you," Jimmy said, sitting down and pushing at Thomas's feet. "All right, all right," Thomas said- but then Jimmy stood up again, dripping, and ran naked into the bedroom. Thomas stared after him, bemused. "Change your mind?" He called, through the open door, but Jimmy only said- "Wait a second!"

Thomas listened to Jimmy's thoughts, but the only sound in Jimmy's head was the piano part for _I'll Build a Stairway To Paradise_- and then Jimmy ran back in, shivering at the cold air, with his hands full. He bent down, next to the tub, and set down what he had brought in- cigarettes, the ashtray, his deck of _Strongheart _cards, and one of Thomas's books. As a last thought, Jimmy grabbed his bottle of whiskey off of the vanity, and set that down by the tub as well. "Fully prepared," Jimmy said, nodding, and Thomas moved back, so that they could share the tub.

They sat with their knees up, Thomas reading and smoking, and Jimmy practicing with his cards. Jimmy's internal monologue- card after card- kept Thomas company as he read, and he felt a rare sort of happiness. "What _would_ you like to do?" Thomas asked Jimmy, not certain what had prompted him to ask it.

"Come again?" Jimmy said, putting his cards down outside the tub.

"What would you like to do with your life?" Thomas asked.

"With _our _life," Jimmy said, leaning forward and looking away from Thomas, into some dreamy future.

"Our _lives_," Thomas corrected, and Jimmy pushed him backwards, so that they both slid a bit in the water. Thomas held his arm up, to save his cigarette.

"Mmm," Jimmy said, rubbing his own neck. "I think we should- well-" Thomas felt the strange, incomprehensible- _hidden _outline of whatever Jimmy's _plan_ was surface again, and within his own head Jimmy quickly obscured it. "No," Jimmy said. "I don't think I'll tell you. It's a surprise."

The clock in the other room- just a newer mantle clock, nothing special- began to chime midnight, and Jimmy leaned forward, so that his knees pressed closely against Thomas's, and kissed him. "Happy Birthday," Jimmy said, and smiled. "Let's get out. It's gone cold."

They huddled close together in the bed, Jimmy praising its comfort, and Thomas was lulled by their closeness, and by how Jimmy entwined their hands together, as if that was how they would sleep from now on. "Today was a perfect day," Jimmy said, tiredly.

"Hmm. Apart from a few obvious unpleasantries," Thomas replied.

"Your telepathy?" Jimmy asked, squeezing his hand. "I know it's bad for you. Don't worry. I'll..." _I'll help you with it,_ Jimmy continued, though he had lapsed in his speech. _I'll take care of everything, don't worry._

"I love you, Jimmy," Thomas said, and felt his throat grow tight at the sentiment.

"Yes, please, do," Jimmy said, and curled into him, shutting his eyes.

* * *

Jimmy dreamed of the dark room, but all of his _Strongheart_ cards were swept away from the table by the white-gloved hands, and they hung lazily in the air, twisting like stars in the deep darkness. "Are you listening?" asked a voice- not _the _Voice, but an aspect of it, softer and less damaging to the ear than the full strength of the Voice would have been.

"Y-yes," Jimmy said, eager to convey his earnestness. "I am. I think I understand-"

"No, my love, you _don't_," the voice said, mournfully, and the hands folded down, like fans, or wings. "It's so very important that you Listen," The voice said, and Jimmy could almost place it- but his conviction about who the owner of it was wavered and his answer changed with every word it uttered.

"What d'ya mean?" Jimmy asked, reaching for the hands- but they were much further away than they appeared to be, and he stumbled after them, falling over the velvet table and into a void that clutched at him from all sides. "_AHHHHHHHHHhhhhh-"_ Jimmy screamed, wordlessly, as he was pitched through an endless dark, until a grey light permeated everything and he waas dumped unceremoniously onto cobblestones that were slick with rain.

"Ah," Jimmy moaned, paralyzed by some unspeakably deep pain- he could not understand where the pain came from, or why he should feel so much of it, and he reached out one arm, trying to raise himself off of the street, but he could not. In front of him his _Strongheart_ cards lay scattered, soaking up the ceaseless rain. The raindrops beat on the ground to the exact rhythm of _Ode to Joy_, and Jimmy cried out, desperately imploring some higher power for help, but all that he heard was the echoing roar that announced the _Voice_, here to drive him mad in his hour of pain, crying out _"Listenlistenlistenlisten- _

_-you must- _

_-you must listen- or _He _will have to guess-"_

And before Jimmy could entreat- or beg- or scream at the Voice that he did not have any idea what it _meant-_ he was being grasped by many hands, he was being lifted up-

* * *

Jimmy woke up, stretching his arms and legs out- a luxury he rarely could indulge in while still in the bed- and then he realized that Thomas was not laying next to him, and sat up, looking round the room. "Thomas?" He called out, loud enough that Thomas would have replied if he were in the washroom, but there was no answer.

"Thomas," Jimmy said again, knowing it was futile. He felt prickles of unease run up and down his arms, and he began to quickly dress in his pyjamas. Thomas's coat and hat were gone from the hook inside the door. _Where the hell have you gone off to on your own_? Jimmy asked, but there was no answer.

Jimmy pulled on his coat, forcing his feet into slippers, and ran out of the room, almost forgetting the spare key. "Thomas?" Jimmy said, walking hurriedly down the hall. His anxiety- coupled with some unpleasant feelings that his dreams had brought (although Jimmy could not exactly remember what in his dreams had upset him so) made him break into a run as he rounded the stair, and his feet touched only every third step on the way down- and then Jimmy skidded to a halt- he had almost tripped over Thomas, who sat alone on the second floor landing, with no guests about to witness his distress.

"Thomas?" Jimmy asked, and knelt down next to him. Thomas had his face in his hands, and sat slumped against the wall with his knees up. At Jimmy's voice, Thomas lifted his head. "Oh, Jimmy," Thomas said, weakly. "I'm glad you came-"

Thomas had a trickle of blood running from his nose. Jimmy's heart skipped a beat as he saw it. The crimson color stuck out brilliantly against Thomas's pallid face, and Jimmy touched the blood. "You're _bleeding_," Jimmy said, trying to keep his face from registering horror and fear- not that it _mattered_, Thomas could _hear _him, anyways-

"I'm alright," Thomas said, shakily, and began to get to his feet. "I thought I'd be okay just to get the paper- but I got out onto the street... and it was..." Thomas trailed off, and Jimmy looped an arm around his back, taking the stairs with him.

"Careful," Jimmy said, when Thomas mostly took the stairs under his own power, barely leaning against Jimmy at all, until they made it back to their room. "I'm fine," Thomas said, when they shut the door. Thomas did seem somewhat recovered just by being in Jimmy's proximity, but he still gripped the frame of the door for an instant as he walked stiffly into the washroom, as if he would fall without support. Jimmy followed him closely, and Thomas stood, his posture slumped, in front of the vanity mirror, looking at the blood on his face. After a pause, Thomas picked up a towel and ran it under the water in the sink. "Blood on my shirtcollar," Thomas said, woodenly. "Damn."

"Sit _down_, will you," Jimmy hissed, guiding him to the toilet and pressing him down. _You stubborn man_. "I'll do it." Jimmy carefully pressed the towel to Thomas's nose- ignoring the face Thomas made as he did it.

"There," Jimmy said, after a moment. "It's not bleeding anymore." _Thomas, you are frightening me._

Thomas laughed hollowly at his thought, and rubbed his hands through his own hair. "It's bad, Jimmy," he admitted, and Jimmy's stomach twisted- it was uncharacteristic of Thomas to admit such a thing- which meant it was much worse than he was actually saying.

"It's fine if you stay with me," Jimmy said, with more confidence than he felt. "Just don't _go_ too far. For God's sakes." Jimmy paused to study Thomas's face. "The Madame will know what to do."

"Mm," Thomas said, noncomittally, and got slowly to his feet, taking slow steps into the bedroom. There he sat on the bed, and stripped off his shirt. "It's ruined," Thomas said ruefully, examining the bloodstain in the light.

"Don't talk about your stupid shirt," Jimmy said, standing in front of him. Jimmy had wound his own hands into fists, and they felt like extensions of the knot of anxiety that worked through the entirety of his being. "How far did you get before you started bleeding?"

"I didn't know I was bleeding," Thomas said. "In buildings it's better- I was alright in the hotel- but on the street it was so- ah, crowded. Crowded with _thoughts_- and after two minutes or so of walking I... I had to come back."

"Does it make your head hurt?" Jimmy asked, coming close enough so that he could press his palms against the skull in question.

"Yes. It hurts very badly," Thomas said, and Jimmy's heart skipped again, in fright. _Oh god if we got separated and he- oh, god, could he die?_

"I don't know," Thomas said, hanging his head. "I'm not certain."

_I won't let this happen,_ Jimmy thought, firmly, and crawled onto the bed next to Thomas. "Everything," Jimmy said firmly, looking into Thomas's eyes, "is going to be fine. I swear it."

He expected Thomas to scoff, or turn away, but it spoke terrible, frightening volumes about Thomas's state of mind that he did neither of these things, instead resting his head against Jimmy's shoulder. "I don't know how to stop this from happening to me," Thomas confessed against Jimmy's neck, and Jimmy put his arms around Thomas's shoulders.

"Shh, it's fine, it will be fine" Jimmy said, as if he had known what was about to happen- because a second later Thomas's shoulders began to shake- silently- and Jimmy felt the wetness of tears along his collarbone. Jimmy desperately tried to think comforting thoughts, and settled upon imagining a rendition of Thomas's favorite Chopin piece, picturing it playing soothingly in his mind, one note after another. He squeezed Thomas tighter still, and Thomas, after a few moments, pulled away, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He wouldn't look at Jimmy, instead reaching for his cigarettes. "This is a poor way to spend a vacation," Thomas said, aiming for causalness and missing. "Let's go do something."

"Go _do_ someth-" Jimmy shook his head. "Are you sure you can? Because I think the only thing you should do is pay a visit to a doctor."

"And tell them what?" Thomas asked. Although Thomas was facing partially away from him, still Jimmy could see the sudden, haughty uptick of one of Thomas's eyebrows, and he felt greatly relieved that Thomas was at least well enough to be disdainful.

"Well, no more wandering off on your own," Jimmy said, lightly. Thomas lit a cigarette and passed it to him, before Jimmy could ask for one. "No," Thomas said, looking out the window. "No more." His tone was so empty that Jimmy grasped for him again, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Don't just sink into the depths of, um, despair," Jimmy said- he knew he was awful at being comforting, really, but for Thomas he would make an attempt. "Please."

Thomas sat up, nodding. "Yes. No, I mean. I won't."

"You really want to go out?" Jimmy asked, looking at him appraisingly. Thomas really _did_ seem better- after just a few moments, his color had recovered. The worried draw of his brow had not lessened, though- however he nodded at Jimmy. "Yes, I'd like that," Thomas said, giving him a tight smile.

"Alright, certainly," Jimmy said, with more confidence than he felt, and dressed quickly. Thomas selected another shirt from his suitcase, in place of his bloodied one, and when he stood up to pull it on, Jimmy embraced him for a moment, feeling a wave of painfully strong love for the other man. "Please," Jimmy said, quietly, but he wasn't sure what he was asking for, and Thomas held him back, for a moment, before stepping away to finish clothing himself.

_"I'm going to bloody die_," Thomas said, and Jimmy looked at him sharply. "I certainly hope not," Jimmy said, angrily. "Don't be like that."

"What?" Thomas asked, bemused at his irritation. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh," Jimmy said. _Oh. _"Well," Jimmy said, maintaining his composure, "don't think it, anyways."

"You can hear what I'm thinking without doubling over now?" Thomas asked, his eyebrows going up.

"Sometimes. A little. Occasionally," Jimmy said, moving his hands in a bewildered gesture. "It was like the- like what we did last night-" mentally, Jimmy added- _Don't_ talk_ about it, Thomas, I'm embarrassed_- "it was right _here_. I thought you said it out loud." Jimmy took a breath. "You're right, it is disorienting. I wonder if I can hear other people."

"Can you sort of feel them- around?" Thomas asked, indicating the world at large.

"Other people?" Jimmy asked.

"Their- ah- _minds_, I mean," Thomas said. He appeared rather put out about discussing it so rationally, but Jimmy shook his head _no_. "Not at all," Jimmy said, and Thomas looked greatly relieved. "Good," He said, squeezing Jimmy's shoulder for a moment, and Jimmy caught the edge of Thomas's feelings on the subject. _He should never have to go through this, _Thomas thought, looking at Jimmy soberly- Jimmy heard his voice, clear as a bell- and then Thomas turned away to put on his coat.

Jimmy stubbed out his cigarette firmly in the ashtray- he had forgotten to smoke it, and so it was now nothing more than a very long, unbroken column of ash.

On the bottom floor, the girl who worked at the pub stopped them. "Mr. Barrow?" She asked, catching him at the door. "Yes," Thomas acknowledged, and she produced an envelope from behind the desk. "This came for you. I would've sent it up, but I thought you'd gone out."

Thomas gave Jimmy an odd look as he opened the envelope, and Jimmy peered over it with him. It read:

_My Dear Mr. Barrow,_

_ Many Happy Returns! I am so looking forward to seeing you this evening, darling! When you arrive at The Fig, please give you name at reception- I have secured you an excellent table. I also have a bit of advice to offer regarding your difficulties- hopefully we can put our heads together and come up with some solution. Oh, and bring an umbrella with you._

_Until tonight!_

It was signed "_F.N."_

"Is it the Madame?" Jimmy asked, looking back up at Thomas.

"Franseza Nicodème," Thomas said, by way of a reply.

"And did you _tell_ her we were coming for a visit?" Jimmy asked.

"No," Thomas said. "But someone could've."

"Right, Awful Alfred just shot a note off on the slim chance we'd do as he suggested," Jimmy said, sarcastically. "And also he knew enough to inform her that you've been 'having difficulties'."

"Maybe," Thomas said, folding up the note.

"And he also mentioned to her that today is your birthday," Jimmy added.

"It is within the realm of possibility," Thomas said- but he did look a bit less tense, and Jimmy whistled happily to himself as they strolled out of the pub and across the square. "Mphh," Thomas said, stifling a laugh, and Jimmy looked at him curiously. "What?"

"You really call him Awful Alfred in your head," Thomas said, and Jimmy nodded. "He _is_ awful," Jimmy replied.

They got lunch at a little restaurant that gave enormous helpings of food, and Jimmy ate as much from Thomas's plate as his own. Thomas scanned his beloved newspaper- which he had felt the need, earlier, to almost _die_ attempting to get. He read Lady Edith's column aloud- a funny bit about some of the lengths her aristocratic friends would go to dis-invite undesirables from parties- and then another, more informational piece about the founding of the British Broadcasting Company. "So she's getting two articles for the price of one, now?" Jimmy asked.

"Helps if you're intimate with the editor," Thomas said.

Jimmy got Thomas to play a hand of cards with him- and he won effortlessly. It was _all_ effortless, Jimmy thought, when you could see what was on the other side-

"Impressive," Thomas said, laying down his losing hand after Jimmy rattled off all of the cards he held. "Almost as if you were cheating."

"But I'm _not_ cheating," Jimmy responded. "What rule could you say I'm breaking?"

"Not looking at another man's cards is a fairly important rule," Thomas said. Jimmy shook his head, smiling, and resolved that now that he had mastered the cards, he would listen to the strange shreds of his dreams and _listen_.

_I'm getting better at it all the time,_ Jimmy thought, looking at Thomas. _Soon I'll be able to hear him as he hears me, I think._

"You shouldn't try," Thomas said, looking alarmed. "Jimmy. If you don't _have_ to have this happen to you- don't _court_ it, for god's sake. It's not anything you want."

"If it's just with you, I want it," Jimmy answered. "Really. Don't look at me like that. We can have all the-" Jimmy looked around, and thought it instead: _We can have all of the conversations we should be allowed to have- right here, in our minds- and nobody will ever say a word about it. _

_It's not a good idea,_ Thomas thought, frustratedly, and opened his mouth to say it, but Jimmy cut him off. "Don't bother, I heard you. It _is_ a good idea."

Thomas put his head in his hands.

Jimmy persuaded Thomas to go back to Hamish House after they had eaten and browsed through several shops, on the grounds that he wanted a bit of a lie-down before the club. "I can read your _mind_," Thomas said, as they walked back. "I know exactly what you're doing."

"I'm only saying that _I_ could use a rest," Jimmy answered, innocently. "I didn't say I was _averse _to the idea of you having one as well."

"I have medical training, you know," Thomas said. "You don't need to nursemaid me." But when they got back to the room Thomas layed down immediately on the unmade bed. "We should pull down the sheets on the other bed, as well," Thomas said. "Don't want to get the maid suspicious when she comes in to give everything a turn."

"Or we could just be rooming together and one of us is fastidious and _has_ to make the bed every morning, and the other's a slob," Jimmy extrapolated, standing over Thomas, and running his fingers through the other man's hair.

"Brilliant storytelling," Thomas grumbled, and Jimmy bent down, to kiss him. "You're not sleeping," Thomas said, sarcastically. "But you were _so_ exhausted."

"Well, I'm much less tired now," Jimmy said, straightfaced. "I'll wake you when it's evening."

Jimmy ensconced himself in the washroom and shaved so closely that he was in danger of shaving his skin clean off in multiple instances, and then cut his own hair, neatening it up a bit. He moved the metronome onto the washroom vanity, so that he could have a pleasant sound to break up the monotony of grooming. He was done by the time it had grown dark out, and he climbed onto the bed, and woke Thomas up by flicking his ear. "Nnn," Thomas said, unhappily, swatting at Jimmy with his eyes still closed, and when Jimmy kissed him, Thomas kissed back, even before he had truly woken.

"Get up," Jimmy said, sitting back on his heels. "Lazybones." _Are you alright, Thomas?_ Jimmy added, undercutting what he'd said aloud.

"I feel just fine," Thomas said, sitting up, and then Jimmy had the treat of dressing for the club with him. Thomas adjusted Jimmy's tie fastidiously- and Jimmy adjusted it back, with a irritated noise. _I know how to dress myself, I'm a footman, for god's sakes, and don't I always look natty?_

"The nattiest," Thomas said, but he was carefully buttoning Jimmy's cuffs, and Jimmy, with a smile, let him.

"Hmm," Jimmy said, looking Thomas over appraisingly, when they were dressed. "Sharp, Mr. Barrow."

"Sharp yourself," Thomas said, but his odd light eyes looked Jimmy over, and Jimmy felt an abrupt wave- of longing- that was not his own.

"You want me so much, do you?" Jimmy asked, the feeling so powerful that it brought blood to his face.

_Yes,_ Thomas thought, but he ducked his head, turning away, and grabbed their coats.

"Wait!" Jimmy said, as they left. "The Madame said to bring a brolly with us."

Thomas scoffed. "It was sunny out today," he said to Jimmy, but Jimmy grabbed the umbrella anyways.

"I trust her," Jimmy said, hanging it over his wrist- although when they got outside, the night was dry, and Thomas laughed at him again.

In the taxi Jimmy lost the telepathy, and hurled silent questions at Thomas, to which he could not hear the answers. "Ugh," Jimmy said, when Thomas gave him yet another questioning look that Jimmy could not guess the secret of- "it's annoyingly- uh, inconsistent."

The Fig Leaf had for an entrance a grand double door, painted in an ostentatious shade of blue. When they were let in Jimmy glanced around, but the foyer was so smoky and so dimly lit that he could make out little more than a number of settees and sofas scattered about, dotted with people.

Thomas gave his name at the desk and suddenly they were being greeted warmly, and led through another set of doors into a much larger room, with high vaulted ceilings. Jimmy looked the room over carefully, fascinated. It boasted a huge polished dancefloor- actually, the whole _room_ was a dancefloor- with a broad stage at one far end, filled up by an orchestra. Tables claimed the space directly in front of the stage, and the walls were crowded with more sofas- mismatched in an odd bohemian sort of way- and on the left of the room, a mahogany bar (Jimmy _knew_ it was mahogany from listening to Thomas rhapsodize about what kind of wood this or that clock was made out of) -dominated an entire wall. In the far right corner, adjacent to the stage, a huge red tent, painted with stars. was set up inside as if the fair had come to town. A messy queue of people waited outside the mouth of the tent, all with drinks in hand, some swaying to the music. It was very crowded- _very_ crowded, and Jimmy made sure to keep close to Thomas, lest he be overwhelmed.

"Your table, Mr. Barrow," the host said, and disappeared into the crowd, leaving them at a table for two, right near the stage, with a neat _Reserved_ placard on it.

Jimmy glanced at Thomas, and then gaped at the room, trying to maintain a disaffected air, though he'd never been in a place quite like this before. There were two men dancing together on top of the bar, and Jimmy stared at them for an instant, in astonishment.

"I think we can dance here," Thomas said, indicating the swirl of couples on the floor. He looked amused at Jimmy's expense. In the crowd Jimmy could pick out all manner of oddities- women wearing men's suits, men dancing with other men, people doing strange dances that he wasn't familiar with and wearing strange elaborate headpieces. Two women, both in dresses with extraordinarily short hemlines, spun past them, their bodies pressed very close together, and Jimmy felt a strange sense of unreality wash over him. _Here we sit, listening to each other's thoughts_, _in the middle of a weird bacchanal..._

Thomas smirked. "That's very pretty."

"Thank you, I thought so, too," Jimmy retorted, trying to stifle the feeling that he was a stranger in a strange land. "Let's drink," he suggested, and Thomas rolled his eyes elaborately. "What's with the tent?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas looked over at the queue. "The medium's in there," Thomas said, squinting his eyes. "Oh, yeah? How d'ya know?" Jimmy asked.

"I can feel her," Thomas said, and looked around oddly.

"Is her brain more magical than other people's, or something?" Jimmy asked, seriously- only realizing how ridiculous it sounded when Thomas laughed aloud.

"You know what I mean," Jimmy said, pinching Thomas's leg- and suddenly Thomas grabbed Jimmy's wrist and pulled his hand up, placing it on the table, and rested his own hand atop it. Jimmy looked at him, stunned, and then back at their hands, locked together for all the world to see. _Is it safe?_ Jimmy thought, and was rewarded by being able to hear Thomas's unspoken answer. _Here it is. You have to learn how to pick your places, Jimmy._ The thought had a whiff of chastisement to it, which Jimmy ignored totally, and he put his free hand on Thomas's, creating a stack of hands, and grinning. "My dear," Jimmy said, grandly, and drew a smile from Thomas.

When the waiter came over Thomas still did not remove his hand, and Jimmy ordered a Sidecar, trying not to be overly self-conscious. However the waiter did not bat an eye, and returned a few moments later with Jimmy's drink, and a highball for Thomas.

"Let's walk around," Jimmy suggested, his heart beating a little quickly. He knocked back a fair portion of his cocktail, and rose to his feet with Thomas, who took his arm. Jimmy was struck silent by Thomas's forwardness, and rocked a little on his feet, not remembering why he had been so eager to go around the room.  
"Would I take a chance with you?" Thomas asked, lowly, in Jimmy's ear, and Jimmy shivered involuntarily. "It's perfectly acceptable. Look around."

"Right," Jimmy said, with more confidence than he felt. They made their way around the outskirts of the dancers, arm-in-arm. Feathers from headresses and fans whirled along the floor as they moved, creating a strange dreamlike ambiance.

"That man is wearing a dress," Jimmy said, pointing across the room, and Thomas stared at the spot where Jimmy had surreptitiously pointed. "That is a woman," Thomas said, after a moment, his mouth twitching up, and Jimmy looked up at him, feeling by turns jubilant and thrilled and anxious.

"A very unfortunate woman," Thomas went on. "But still a woman. If any blokes come in ballgowns, they'll be harder to pick out than that."

"Hey! Dapper Dan!" A girl called, from one of the settees, and waved her handkerchief vigorously at the pair of them. "Got a cigarette?" She asked, and Thomas produced one. She took it, and he bent over, offering her a light. "Thanks kindly," the girl said, and Thomas said, "You're welcome, Cosette," and then balked. A strange expression came over the girl's face, and she said "Have we...?" But Thomas backed away, quickly, reinstating himself on Jimmy's arm and leading them into the crowd.

"You don't know her?" Jimmy asked. "No," Thomas said.

"Careful with all that mind reading," Jimmy said, pulling a serious face. "You'll frighten the common people."

"You care for a dance?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy, looking at him, found his gaze caught on the curve of Thomas's lips. "You and I?" Jimmy asked, pulling at his collar, and Thomas nodded.

"Let me have another drink, first," Jimmy said, hoping he sounded quite normal. "I need to, um, soak up a little more atmosphere."

They came round to the vast expanse of the bar- now free of dancers, but still with a few long-legged girls lounging on it- and Jimmy read the cocktail list with extreme interest. "A 'Tuxedo no. 2', that sounds interesting," he told Thomas. "Or a 'White Lady'."

"Ugh, that has an _egg_ in it," Thomas said, making a face of disgust at the menu. "Let me order."

"Oh, _alright_," Jimmy said, pretending annoyance, and Thomas caught the bartender and put in an order for two champagne cocktails. Jimmy rolled his eyes at Thomas's selection, but sipped his gratefully when it was served. "This is all very different," he told Thomas confidentially, and Thomas leaned in a little over him. "You know," Thomas said- and as he said it Jimmy felt from him the most intense, most incongruous wave of affection- "you're all talk."

"I am _not_ talk," Jimmy said, putting down his glass forcefully. "I'm action. I mean, I'm a man of _action_." For an instant he considered telling Thomas his brilliant, life-altering _plan_ for the two of them, and he saw Thomas look into his face searchingly. _Trying to read my mind?_ Jimmy thought, and walled his plan away, somewhere in the back of his head, where it seemed that Thomas couldn't get to. _Well, too bad._

"Difficult," Thomas said, affection still tinting the shades of his voice, and Jimmy was about to fire back a scathing retort, when a deep voice called out- "Tommy! Hey! It isn't Tommy Barrow?"

Jimmy heard Thomas think, irritably, _Who the hell is that?_ Jimmy watched as a tall man, Thomas's age or a bit older, wove through the throng, a drink held over his head.

The man- he sounded American- stopped in front of Thomas, and Jimmy felt a wave of unhappy recognition flood through Thomas- and then Thomas's mind disappeared- or maybe _Jimmy's_ mind disappeared from wherever plane Thomas's brain was currently occupying, and Jimmy was left in the dark.

"It must be Roger Keeves," Thomas said, uncomfortably, and he stuck his hand stiffly into the other man's proffered one, shaking briefly.

Keeves was laughing. "Tommy! I'd recognize that face after any amount of time but- God! It's been almost fifteen years!" He said, clapping Thomas on the shoulder, and then he turned cordially to Jimmy. "Please, if you're a friend of Tommy's, call me Roger," the man said, clasping Jimmy's hand with his own enormous one. Jimmy stared up at him, confused. "Uh, Jimmy Kent, pleasure," he said, after a moment.

"Oh, Dara, come here for a moment," Keeves said, calling a woman and another man out of the crowd. "Dara, this is an old friend of mine- Tommy Barrow- Jimmy Kent- Dara Claude- and her brother, Cornelius- say hello to Tommy, Neil-" Keeves said, and then grinned. The man now shaking hands with Thomas was well in his cups, and the woman grimaced. "Please sit down, Neil, you're _awful_."

_Oh, god, they're all Americans, _Jimmy thought, irritated. _Stop being loud and go away._ He looked sideways to see if his thoughts had garnered from Thomas an amused glance, but Thomas was still staring at Keeves with an uncomfortable expression, as though he'd been caught at something.

Drunkard Neil had found himself a stool, and Dara leaned against the bar, rearranging her scarf. "How is your cousin?" Thomas asked, all stiff formality, and Keeves laughed, raking a hand through his own dark-gold hair. "Fine, fine," Keeves said. "Married and all that. And what are you doing now?"

"Ah-" Thomas said, looking as if he were trying to find a place to hide.

"He's butler to a large estate," Jimmy put in, taking another sip of his drink.

"Why that's quite something, isn't it?" Keeves said. "When I knew Tommy he was just a footman, and not even a high-ranking one, whatever that means."

Jimmy forced himself not to make an unpleasant reply. "And how did you two know eachother?" Dara asked, smiling.

"Well, if I must be honest- Tommy broke my heart," Keeves said- he did not look heartbroken, though, but smiled in broad amusement as he said it. Jimmy gaped, disbelieving. _He's like that? But he doesn't seem like that, not even a little-_

"Do tell," Dara said, leaning forward with one hand pressed to her chest.

"Well, Tommy was a footman to my rich British relations- the Davenports, you met them, both of you-"

"Yes," Dara said, nodding. Neil didn't seem to be paying too strict attention. Jimmy leaned forward as well, so as to miss none of the story. Keeves, oblivious to Thomas's obvious discomfort, continued, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "And we always sort of eyed each other when I was coming or going, but I never found a moment alone with him-"

Jimmy looked over at Thomas, to see if he would put a stop to the story, but Thomas seemed to have lost the power of speech.

"So on my very last night in England, I invited him back to my apartment- and agreed- and it was all very romantic," Keeves went on, "and then, right before we went to sleep, I told him how happy I was that he'd spent my last night with me. He hadn't known I was going back to New York, you see."

"That's romantic," Neil put in, from the barstool, and then looked away again.

"I thought so, and he seemed to, as well," Keeves went on, his smile appearing again, "but in the morning, when I woke up, he'd gone- and taken all my pocket money, cigarettes, liquor- and my _shoes_!"

This drew a round of laughter from the Claude siblings, and Keeves joined them, laughing so hard that he almost bent over.

"Every word of that is a lie," Thomas said, after a beat, making everyone break up into laughter again. Thomas wouldn't look at Jimmy.

"Very clever," Jimmy said, making Thomas flush a brilliant color. "You knew he was leaving and that he wouldn't say anything about it besides!"

"Hah! Oh, how I wept over him all the way back on the boat," Keeves said, doing an unconvincing interpretation of a lovelorn poet. _How can you be lavender?_ Jimmy wondered. This man looked like an actor in the pictures- and not the Rudy Valentino sort, either.

Keeves was shaking Thomas's hand again. "It's been excellent, but we have to scrape Neil up and ferry him back to the hotel," Keeves explained. "But do ring me up, won't you?"

"We'll be staying in the Strand Palace," Dara said, pulling her gloves up. "Indefinitely."

"Yes," Thomas said, and then there were shaken hands all around again. Dara kissed Jimmy on the cheek and Keeves clapped him on the shoulder, and then turned to whisper something in Thomas's ear- and the trio departed, supporting Drunkard Neil between them.

"You spent a _night_ with him?" Jimmy asked, as soon as they were out of earshot. Thomas was staring at the floor. "And you _stole_ from him after?"

"N-no, of course not," Thomas said, and turned away.  
"Liar," Jimmy accused, tugging on his sleeve, and Thomas half-glanced at him. "You stole that chap's _shoes_!" Jimmy crowed, the reality of it sinking in, and he shook with helpless laughter while Thomas stared at him- and then Jimmy felt a wave of awful embarrassment from Thomas, one that suffocated him, for a second, before Thomas cut it off.

Jimmy stopped laughing and looked at him. "It isn't _that_ serious."

Thomas shook his head. "What?"

"I mean, you've never stolen anything from me," Jimmy said, laughing again.

"I stole your necktie," Thomas muttered, finishing off his cocktail. _I want you to think I'm a decent person, _Thomas thought.

"I _gave _you my necktie because it was haunted," Jimmy said, and squeezed Thomas's arm. "I think you're a good person." _You're my favorite, you know,_ Jimmy thought, happily, and then he went on- "You were once an awful fiend, though, weren't you?"

Thomas looked away as though he was too flustered for eye contact. "Hardly," he answered, bitingly.

"Was Keeves very good in bed?" Jimmy asked, wondering for the first time if he wasn't a bit jealous.

"It's ridiculous for you to be jealous, you were about twelve at the time," Thomas said, rubbing one hand against his temples.

"Self-involved, isn't he?" Jimmy asked. "Didn't even say anything about your hand."

"I think it's good manners that kept him from mentioning it," Thomas said tightly, and ordered another cocktail.

"So Keeves was nice, then, and you just ran out on him," Jimmy said, musingly. He was trying to straighten up and fly right, but it was just too fun to give Thomas a bit of grief- and to see the cracks in Thomas's composure. "What number was he, of the five?"

"Jimmy," Thomas said, grasping his new drink tightly, and then sighed. "Two," he said, affecting a wooden expression, but Jimmy only laughed at his acting. "And _why'd_ you take his things?"

"I felt used," Thomas said. "I thought we were having a love affair, all the looks between us. I didn't know he was going across the Atlantic ten hours after we-" Thomas waved his hand in the air.

"Hmm," Jimmy said, and then felt pleased. "Well, you weren't cruel to _me_ after I broke your heart, just nicer than ever-"

Jimmy broke off at a tap on his shoulder, and turned, blinking, at the revelation of a beautiful woman in a man's tuxedo. It was Miss Abernathy, he realized, after an instant- Madame Nicodème's chauffeur. "The Madame will see you now," Miss Abernathy said, and about-faced, walking into the crowd.

"Are we meant to follow her?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas, one eyebrow raised, shrugged. He was not blushing so wretchedly anymore, and, as they walked, Jimmy grabbed Thomas's left hand, and held it firmly.

_What did Keeves whisper in your ear?_ Jimmy asked, silently, and Thomas turned to look at him. "That I'd found a lovely companion," Thomas said, sweetly, but Jimmy heard Thomas's thoughts, and his thoughts said: _His room number. As if I'd ever-_

"Are you bloody _serious_?" Jimmy snapped. "That awful bastard! He must've _known_ we were together-"

"I thought you said the more we _acted_ like we were together, the less suspicious we'd seem," Thomas said. He seemed fully recovered now, and gave Jimmy a superior look at having, supposedly, proved him wrong.

"That's at Downton!" Jimmy exclaimed, angrily. "Not at the bloody _club_! That bugger knew it, all right, stupid lousy-"

"Temper," Thomas said, as they followed Miss Abernathy around the queue, to the back of the tent. _Jimmy? Can you hear me? You know I could never want anyone but you, so it's irrelevant-_

_Yes, I hear you, be quiet,_ Jimmy thought- but he kept hold of Thomas's hand- and they slipped into the tent.

Perhaps it was the drinks, or the fact of Thomas's hand firmly clasped in his own, but Jimmy was beginning to really _enjoy_ The Fig Leaf, and the whole freewheeling ambiance of it, and to him the tent was quite magical. The inside of it was roomy, with a little hole at the top to let some small amount of light and air in. "Mr. _Barrow_!" Madame Nicodème said, rising from the round table that dominated the surprisingly spacious interior. Jimmy took in the table- it was covered in a black velvet cloth and bedecked with flickering candles, with the medium's crystal ball placed at the center. The chairs around it were all of mismatched styles. The dark cloth over the table reminded Jimmy of something- like a dream- but he couldn't say exactly what.

There was a girl Jimmy didn't know, sitting across from the Madame, who looked bewildered as they appeared inside the tent. Thomas dropped Jimmy's hand to shake Madame Nicodème's, but she clasped his arms instead and kissed him soundly on the cheek. "A very Happy Birthday to you!" the medium said, happily, and then she was smiling at Jimmy.

"And Mr. James-who-prefers-Jimmy Kent!" Madame Nicodème exclaimed, repeating her kiss on _his_ cheek, and Jimmy was reminded afresh of her comically high voice and comically wide eyes, though after everything that had happened it was hard not to be a little bit awed by her.

"Please, call me Jimmy," Jimmy said, kissing her cheek in return. "And you must call me Fancy," the Madame replied, happily, reclaiming her seat. "Now. Thomas- may I call you Thomas?"

"Of course," Thomas said easily, and sat down. Jimmy followed suit.

"You've been- oh, my manners!" The medium said, bringing one hand to her brow as though it were all too much to bear. "Thomas, Jimmy- this is Berit, she was just in the middle of getting a reading done,"- here she indicated the strange girl. "Berit, these are my close personal friends- they've been experiencing some _fascinating _things lately, from what I gather."

"Charmed," Berit said, and sipped her drink. Miss Abernathy remained standing, her arms crossed.

"Likewise," Jimmy said, and Thomas nodded politely, but Madame Nicodème was speaking again. "So," she said, taking Thomas's bad hand in her small ones (which were adorned with gaudy rings on every finger), "it seems as if the energies are lately quite concentrated on you, my dear..."

"Ah, right-" Thomas said, nodding reluctantly. "I've been hearing things-"

"The thoughts of others," Madame Nicodème said, nodding sagely, and making the bell-adorned headband she wore jingle. "It's a _very_ difficult thing to come into- take it from one who knows. At least you're hearing only the thoughts of the _living_ thus far, correct?"

Thomas nodded again, after a pause, looking rather pale.

"Is that what you hear?" Jimmy asked her, curiously. "The thoughts of the living _and_ the- the _dead_?"

"Oh, it's not so _dire_ as all that," Madame Nicodème said, laughing at their expressions. "Just a matter of learning how to _live_ with it, you know."

"But _why_ is happening?" Thomas pressed, using his free hand to smooth his hair in a gesture of distress.

"Well," she said, dropping Thomas's hands to tap her fingers to her chin. "That I do not know, but perhaps we could look _into_ it, a little." The crystal ball began to take on luminescense, growing brighter, until it eclipsed even the candlelight, and Jimmy leaned forward, eagerly. _How does she _do_ that?_

"Mmm," the medium said, inclining her head over the crystal, her eyes tightly shut. Then she reached out, placing her left hand in Thomas's right and her right hand in Berit left. Jimmy, taking intiative, grasped Berit and Thomas's free hands, so that they made a little circle.

"You're catching on, aren't you?" Madame Nicodème said, approvingly. "I can see you've been making an effort."

"Yes," Jimmy said, feeling rather serious about the whole thing, and then blinked, surprised- by some odd sleight of hand Madame Nicodème had placed Jimmy's _Strongheart_ cards on the table, next to a stack of tarot cards. _But they were in my pocket, I could feel them,_ Jimmy thought- _and she hasn't let go of their hands-_

The medium began to hum again, and Jimmy hummed along, remembering the séance. Berit hummed too, in a delightfully scratchy voice, and Thomas, with obvious reluctance, made a vague sort of sound. "Please," the Madame intoned, sweetly, "we ask for help- for _guidance_- in this the situation of Thomas Barrow-"

"Yes, please," Thomas muttered, and Jimmy squeezed his hand. _Be quiet._

"Oh, _Beritea_," Madame Nicodème said, in her normal voice- but Jimmy shivered, so much had he been expecting the intonations of someone dead to issue from her lips- "he's still _waiting_ for you in the garden-"

Berit gasped, and Jimmy gave her hand a little reassuring shake. _"but_ that's hardly pertinent, we'll talk about it after," the medium went on, shaking her head. "We need advice for _Thomas_. And Jimmy. Tell us why they have suddenly been awarded the abilities to make such insights, won't you- ah-"

Jimmy tried very hard to _listen_- and suddenly he was caught in a deluge of Thomas's thoughts-

_Of course I'd run into someone I knew when it would've never happened otherwise-_

_I looked a bloody fool-_

_Have to know when you're beaten or else you're forever trying to get back up and I-_

_Oh God please let her be able to help me-_

"_Oh_," Jimmy said, taken aback by how powerful the thoughts were. Involuntarily he broke the circle, dropping his hands at the shock of it- but the Madame had dropped her hands as well, and was looking round at them all curiously.

"Well," she said, to the expectant silence, "this is rather odd."

_Oh no_, Thomas thought, and Jimmy had to push down an overwhelming feeling of unease. "What is it, Madame?" Jimmy asked, anxiously.

"Fancy, _please_," the medium replied, and grabbed his _Strongheart_ cards, running them through her fingers. "These are important," she said, thoughtfully. "Hmm. Alright. As well as I can understand- oh, but it's all so _clear_ one instant and so _vague_ the next! Like a puzzle-"

"Yes, but it's a puzzle made out of his _mind_," Jimmy said, trying not to sound short. He respected the medium, and all, but it was Thomas's _sanity_ they were having a conversation about.

"It's _bad_," Jimmy went on, tapping the table. "It's gotten _very_ bad. He can't even go away from me-"

"He gave you a fright this morning?" Madame Nicodème was studying Jimmy's face, and for some reason she looked as though she approved of his vehemence.

"Yes," Thomas said uncomfortably, cutting off Jimmy's answer, as though he didn't want the story told. "But couldn't we-"

"Let me tell you what I can determine," the medium said, picking out a card, and holding it faced away from Jimmy. "What is it?"

"Two of diam- oh, you're tricky," Jimmy said. The medium had thought of something different than the _actual_ card, but he looked beyond her imaginings and into the _reality_ of it, forcing himself to see behind the picture she gave him. "The seven of hearts," Jimmy said, after a moment, and Madame Nicodème laughed- a delighted giggle, like a child- and flipped the card around, showing them all the seven of hearts. "Very clever," she said, setting it down. "Some people have the inclination toward this sort of thing in them already, as a matter of course. Like you, Thomas. That's why it's coming down rather hard on you, I think. And some people-" here she gestured at Berit and Jimmy- "are not so- ah, differently _abled_. So you've got yourself a bit of a trick- you've _taught_ yourself the gift! I don't know that I've ever seen it. The only way it touches you at all is with the piano- or the cards- and you've taken it and honed it. You're catching up."

"Thank you," Jimmy said, feeling a swell of pride. "But the idea for it came to me in a dream. So-"

"So what made him have the dream to begin with?" Thomas asked, finishing his thought.

"I don't know," the medium said, and sighed, looking at her palms. "It's so odd. Whenever I try to _see_ it, I get images blocking me up."

"What are they?" Berit asked, leaning forward as though she were totally enraptured.

"_Those_ cards, a pair of white-gloved hands- a cobbled street- a house of gold- money, _piles_ of money- and a narrow bed," Madame Nicodème said, shaking her head. "Odd. And the only sound a colossal Voice-"

Both Jimmy and Thomas sat forward in their chairs as she's begun to describe the images- and now, when she said "_Voice_," like that- with a capital 'V'- Thomas took an audible breath, and Jimmy felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. "The Voice," Jimmy said. "I remember that."

"So do I," Thomas said, lowly, and found himself a cigarette.

"It's all for a purpose, I assure you- but I'm afraid I can't speak to what the purpose _is_," the medium said. "I'm sorry."

Thomas's face had gone white, and Jimmy saw his hands shake as he tried to light his cigarette. "But what will I do?" Thomas said, after a pause. "I can't live this way."

"Well. I can at least help you with _that_, even if I'm useless for answers," Madame Nicodème said lightly, and Thomas let out a shaky breath. "I'd be most obliged," he answered, and Jimmy pressed a hand to his shoulder.

"There are a few remedies I can teach you- and something I can _make_ for you," the medium said. "Don't be frightened, Thomas. Some people are born with the touch- the _ability_, that is- and to them it's as natural as breathing- but if it comes on you rather later in life, it can be difficult. I have a charm or two-"

"Were you born with it?" Jimmy asked, curiously. "Or did it _happen_ to you later?"

"Well," the Madame said, looking flustered for the first time in Jimmy's knowing her. "It _came _to me, actually. When I was thirteen, something rather terrible happened- and _afterwards_, I found that I could... understand new things, things that hadn't been so apparent before. "

"But nothing terrible has happened to us," Jimmy said.

"Well!" the medium said, brightening. "That's _something_, isn't it? I've thought so many times that if only I had been granted my gift _before_- I could have stopped it _all_. Now," she said, clapping her hands together, " -as for my charm. I devised this for _myself_, you know, and I wear it always. It keeps the minds of others from getting to you- the way Jimmy does, only without having to tote another _person_ around all day long."

_Doubting Thomas_, Jimmy thought, looking at Thomas's still-taut features. _If she says it'll help, it will._

_We'll see,_ Thomas thought in reply, putting out his cigarette, and Jimmy was so delighted that they'd had a proper _dialogue_ in their heads that he didn't pay attention when the medium pushed his hand down, palm up, onto the table.

"Berit," the Madame asked, in her lilting tones, "if you would hum again for me, darling, and- just keep your hand _there_, Jimmy-"

"Yes, _Fancy_," Jimmy said, tipping her a wink. _Nice to be able to speak with you privately, Mr. Barrow,_ he thought, giving Thomas a smile. _Keep quiet for a moment,_ Thomas thought, smirking at him.

The medium produced a small dagger- it looked rather like a letter opener- from somewhere behind the crystal ball, and she tapped it gently against the deck of cards, her voice taking on a different tone-

_"Thrums nor odds of thread_

_My hand never kept, nor shall keep, _

_Fuidheagan no corr do shnath_

_Cha do chum's cha chum mo lamh._

_Gach dath a ta 's a bhogha-fhrois_

_Chaidh troimh mo mheoirean fo na chrois,_

_Geal is dubh, dearg is madar,_

_Uaine, ciar-ghlas, agus sgarlaid,_

_Gorm, is grisionn 's dath na caorach,_

_'S caoibean cha robh dhith air aodach. ,"_

She said, somberly. "The cloth in this case being the fabric of your _being_," she said, to Thomas, as if they had followed along when she had lapsed into another language- and then handed him the dagger. Thomas took it, and the medium tapped on the exposed skin of Jimmy's palm. "Give him a little cut, there- just enough to draw blood."

Thomas balked, jerking his hand back. "I can't," he said.

Jimmy stifled the feeling of alarm he'd gotten at the Madame's command, and stared at Thomas. "Oh, go on and _do_ it," he said. "Do you want it to stop or not?"

"I just-" Thomas paused, shaking his head, and Jimmy felt his revulsion- _Thomas's_ revulsion- at the idea of inflicting pain on him. "I can't do it," Thomas said, pressing his lips together.

"Now listen, you really _must,_" the medium said, very gently. "It will make him feel better for splitting your lip open, as a side benefit, and anyway, its how these things _work_."

"Thomas," Jimmy said, looking at him. With he other hand he grasped Thomas's hand by the wrist, guiding it down. Thomas regarded him, his face worried- and Jimmy pressed the dagger's point into his own palm as though Thomas were merely an extension of the blade. He wanted to flinch back, but made himself apply more pressure- until the feeling became very sharp, and then he jerked Thomas's wrist across his palm, cutting a neat line in his own skin.

Thomas dropped the dagger onto the table, looking ill, and grabbed Jimmy's hand. "I'm very sorry," he said quietly, and Jimmy managed to seem unaffected, although his hand stung. "Don't be, _I_ did it," Jimmy replied, and then Madame said: "Now cut off a lock of his hair. A small one will do-"

"What_?_" Jimmy asked. "Why d'ya need my _hair_?"

"Oh, you're _vain_," the Madame Nicodème replied, laughing. "Just cut a bit. Back there by his temple."

"No!" Jimmy said, ducking, although Thomas had not picked up the letter opener again. "Cut it from back _here,_" Jimmy said, touching a spot by his neck, and gave Thomas the blade. "I wouldn't have cut it today if I'd known," Jimmy groused, but he leaned in to Thomas a little, so that the other man could more easily reach his neck. "Go ahead," Jimmy said, quietly, and dragged Thomas's hand up, selecting a piece of hair and holding it out so Thomas could shear it off.

For some reason Thomas was less reluctant to cut his hair than his palm- although Jimmy personally found an unwanted haircut a bit greater of an inconvenience- and he cut off a bit. "That'll look stupid," Jimmy said, meeting Thomas's eyes.

"Now clasp the hair in your bloodied hand," the Madame said, rummaging around on the table. "Perfect. And say this after me, both of you- Berit, you keep humming, you're doing a _lovely_ job- and the two of you say after me- _ A chomairc mo ruin-"_

_This is bloody _witchcraft_, that's what it is, _Thomas thought, looking at Jimmy- but solemnly he repeated: "Ah chom-ay-eark moe ruiyne-"

"A chomairc mo ruin," Jimmy said with him, smiling.

"_You, thou refuge of my love,_" Madame Nicodème said.

"You, thou refuge-" Thomas began,

"-of my love," Jimmy said-

_"Bi 'na do lasair leith romham,_

_Bi 'na do reuil iuil tharam,_

_Bi 'na do ro reidh fotham," _The medium finished. "You don't have to repeat _that_," she added, when they looked at her hesitantly. "Now kiss, and then roll the lock of hair into this-"

Thomas met Jimmy's eyes without moving- but then Jimmy tipped his head forward, so that their lips met, rather chastely, and dropped the blood-soaked clump of hair into Thomas's palm. "Cheers," Jimmy said, grinning. He studiously ignored the pulse of discomfort in his hand, and Thomas rolled the hair into a piece of parchment that the Madame had laid before them. When all was done, she took the bundle from Thomas, adding to it a kiss of her own, and put it into a tiny leather bag that came attatched to a long cord. "Wear this at all times, my dear," she said, standing up, and hung it from Thomas's neck. "-and you'll find the respite you desperately need."

Miss Abernathy came forward, handing Jimmy a handkerchief, and Thomas took it from his hand. "What are you drinking, Miss Berit?" Thomas asked, in his politest at-work voice.

"Straight vodka, I'm afraid," Berit said. "Good," Thomas said, nodding, and took her glass. "May I?"

Presumably she nodded from behind Jimmy, because Thomas unceremoniously poured the alcohol over Jimmy's cut. "A_hh_!" Jimmy snapped, but Thomas studied the wound so seriously that Jimmy forgave him, and then Thomas tied his hand with the kerchief as if it were a bandage. Thomas's mouth was twisted unhappily down at the sight of the injury, but then he straightened back up, wiping his face clean of emotion. "Good as new," he said, to Jimmy.

"Right, disregarding the flesh wound," Jimmy said.

"I know you want to have a go at cards, Jimmy," the Medium said. "And I have to attend to dear Berit- but I'd like to keep you with me for a bit, Thomas- I'll give you some little exercises to do, and you can sit here and keep hold of my hand and help me to direct my energies for all these many _readings_ I must do."

Jimmy had thought for a moment the medium was going to ruin his secret plan, but she said no more, and he looked at Thomas uncertainly. _Should I really leave you alone?_

"I can keep him quite safe, and so shall the talisman we've made," Madame Nicodème answered, and Jimmy was struck silent by the fact of her having _heard_ them.

"Go on and play your poker," Thomas said, checking Jimmy over one last time, as if to make sure he was all right. "I'll be fine."

"Well, I will, then," Jimmy said, grabbing his cards. "See you later, _Tommy_," he tossed over his shoulder as he left, catching enough of a glimpse of Thomas's face to get a good laugh.

Jimmy walked out of the tent, blinking at the light of the place. A young woman who was drenched and soaking wet from head to toe pushed past him, running away from an equally sopping young man who gave chase. Jimmy could hear the girl's laughter when her companion caught her, and then it was swallowed up by the sound of the band.

There was someone singing, now, and Jimmy swayed along with the music, going to the bar to collect another drink, in hopes of allaying the pain in his hand.

_" He draws out step,— Like no one has,_

_You're on your toes,— And shake your shoes_,

_Boy, how he goes— When he plays Blues._

_I watch the crowd— Until he's through,_" The band leader sang, and Jimmy hummed along, learning the beat of the music. In the far corner, set back near the bar, there were tables of men -and women- a surprisingly large amount of women- playing cards, and Jimmy meandered towards them, taking his time and drinking his drink. _If you do this right,_ he thought to himself, patting the pocket that held his Strongheart cards, _it won't matter if you get a good hand or not, because you'll always know if you have to fold-_

_"His music's rare," _the singer crooned- _ "You must declare,— The boy is _there-"

Jimmy took it as a sign, and went over to the largest game. "Can I sit in?" He asked, and the dealer nodded at him. "You're up next."

Jimmy watched the end of the hand, assessing the players from habit, though hopefully he wouldn't _have_ to resort to assessment. Jimmy saw the man who would give him the most trouble straight away- it was a man in a pink waistcoat- and he remembered what the Madame had said, and thought that perhaps he really always _did_ have 'the touch' when it came to cards. _There's this whole other side to the world,_ Jimmy thought, _that I'm only now beginning to see._ Even the spirits had not illustrated the point quite so eloquently for him- that was _another_ world- the place they came from, not this same-and-yet-different-world that existed within everything Jimmy had ever known. He shivered- at what he had learned and at what he was about to do. _Here goes, _Jimmy thought, collecting all the pocket-money he had brought with him.

Luckily the gentleman who left had sat across from the pink-waistcoated man, guaranteeing Jimmy a good look at the other man's cards. _Well, _Jimmy amended, _not at them, but through them. _He was dealt in, and glanced at his bad hand with dissatisfaction. _Hm, Mr. Waistcoat isn't going to let me outbluff him,_ Jimmy thought, and considered folding- but when he squinted through the back of Waistcoat's cards he saw that they were poorer than his own.

It was going to be alright, Jimmy thought, cataloguing the other players tells in concordance with the cards that he looked into, learning all their secrets. Jimmy folded purposefully and observed the remainder of the game, watching a woman win the hand away from Waistcoat, who bowed out neatly at the end. It was hardly high stakes, but Jimmy felt a twinge when he produced more money. _Better get this right,_ He told himself, sternly, and took a breath. _Let's see about the plan._

It came down to Jimmy, Waistcoat, and a chap Jimmy thought of as Moustache- his moustache being his only notable feature, besides his adeptness at cards.

Jimmy _knew _he had the better hand of himself and Waistcoat- he had a royal flush with three lovely eights and two fours, but Waistcoat had nothing. He wondered why Waistcoat stayed in- but he'd done the same thing himself, sometimes, losing to Bates or Alfred when he _knew_ he would, just for the careless pleasure and the diamond-bright strategy of the game itself. Waistcoat had 'the touch' like Jimmy did- so, logically, it followed that he was in it for fun.

But Moustache, by some terrible instinct, kept his forearm firmly in front of his hand, and Jimmy had no idea what he had. _Shite_, Jimmy thought, _I don't know his tells. He could have something grand-_

On the table rested half of the money that he had intended for spending on holiday and perhaps a present for Thomas. "It's your bet," the dealer told him, dryly, and Jimmy snuck one last frantic glance at Moustache- squinting- and tried to look even beyond the cards, to the man, to the words _behind_ the words- and- and he _heard_ the man-

_-not sure about the young one, but the fop in pink has something bland, I can tell, I can make it with a straight-_

Jimmy blinked, surprised at hearing a voice in his mind that wasn't Thomas's, and then slapped down the rest of his money. _All_ of his money was now on the table. "I'm in," Jimmy said, to the dealer. "I fold," Waistcoat said, dryly, and left his cards upon the table, but stayed to watch the outcome.

_You'd just better have a straight, Moustache, like you promised,_ Jimmy thought, steeling himself, but when they turned round their hands, it was true- Jimmy had the royal, and he won all the money in the pot. Jimmy's heart was pounding so wildly that he could scarcely keep his voice even- but he managed, gathering his winnings and excusing himself. He couldn't remember how many hands he had played or drinks he had sipped in intensive contemplation, but in his head only one jubilant sentiment resounded, over and over: _The plan! It's going to work! It will come through!_

Jimmy gave himself a moment before he went to find Thomas, trying to quell the excitement in his head, so as to maintain the surprise of it all- and god knew Thomas would _certainly_ try to talk him out of it if he got wind of Jimmy's plan beforehand- so he ordered another Sidecar -honestly they were better than champagne cocktails, Thomas had the worst taste sometimes- and hung around the bar drinking it, touching his pocket again and again to make sure his winnings were still there. Then he saw Waistcoat, a few meters away, making an order- and Jimmy was struck by an idea and sidled over to him.

"Oh," Waistcoat said, when he noticed Jimmy. "Well played. You've got the gift."

"Thanks," Jimmy said, accepting the compliment. "I think you do as well."

Waistcoat laughed. "Not tonight, I'm afraid, but typically." he extended his hand to Jimmy. "Reggie Zorosky. Pleasure."

"Tommy Keeves, and the pleasure is mine," Jimmy lied- he wasn't sure what compelled him to lie, but he didn't want his real name to get around somehow and upset his plan. Not if he planned to be as _successful_ as he planned to be. "I want to gamble this weekend, Reggie, in a significant way," Jimmy said, realizing with amusement that Zorosky was the first person besides himself whom he had let in on 'The Plan'. "But I haven't been around London very much or in a long while, and I don't know the best places."

Jimmy looked up at Waistcoat- er, _Zorosky_- while the other man considered this. "There's the August Room, of course," Zorosky said, ticking it off on his fingers. "And the... but that's not what you _mean,_ is it, friend?"

"No," Jimmy said, smiling in a manner he thought quite genuine-looking. "I want a place where I could ruin myself, if I wasn't careful. I mean _real_ money and no minders."

"Ah." Zorosky was leaning over him, and Jimmy read the _interest _in the man's face, and felt the urge to recoil- but he fought it, because he needed information. "Well. There is a little place over on Whitechapel- it's called the Peale- just a pub, really- but if you go behind the bar there's a poker lounge the likes of which I've never been to before in London."

"Criminals?"

"And nobility," Zorosky said, "All sorts. But all of them _real_ men of cards. You'd have quite a challenge."

_Not as much as you think,_ _Waistcoat_, Jimmy thought, nodding appreciatively. "I appreciate the tip. Now, Reggie, I must-"

"Before you go, couldn't I buy you a drink?" Zorosky asked.

Jimmy repressed his instinctive reaction -fisticuffs- going instead for a tight smile. "I'm sorry, but I came with someone," Jimmy said, and turned gracefully away from the almost assuredly crestfallen Zorosky.

As he stepped away from the bar, Jimmy tucked his feelings of overpowering excitement away as best he could. It was _hard_ to keep something of this magnitude from Thomas- it was actually always rather hard to keep things from Thomas, now, if he was being _really_ honest with himself. But this was _big_. And they were in each other's heads.

_Just push it down_, Jimmy told himself, and searched for other concerns to occupy all of the corners of his mind where Thomas might go prying. _Just push it down, and then by tomorrow night, it will all be fixed._

Across the hall the queue had disappeared from the tent. It looked at if Madame Nicodème had closed up shop for the evening. Far away, Jimmy could see Thomas sitting at their table, his only company a cigarette, and Thomas looked up as Jimmy looked at him.

Jimmy was immersed, suddenly, in a memory of Thomas's- he was young in the memory, very young- Jimmy could tell, because in the recollection Thomas lay in a bed, staring at his hands, and his hands were both white and unblemished. Next to Thomas in the bed lay a form, wrapped in blankets- the only visible attribute of the other person was a thatch of blonde hair that edged over the top of the coverlet- but Jimmy _knew_ it was Keeves, because this young Thomas knew it- and Jimmy felt a gnawing pain, at the romance Thomas had imagined blooming between them. They had _been_ with one another, and then the man had told Thomas that he was leaving the _country_ the next day- so it was not a romance, after all, but just a one-off. _Not going to ask me to come to America with you, are you, Roger?_ Thomas thought- Jimmy experienced the _memory_ of a _thought_, and felt acutely strange, as in his mind Thomas lay in the bed with rain drizzling round the gloomy London outside, next to a man who did not love him- with adoration slowly curdling into hatred.

Then the memory was gone, but not the pain that had come with it- and Jimmy nodded at the sharp feeling of it. _Good on you, you got his bloody shoes_, Jimmy thought, and walked towards Thomas, each step bringing him closer to where he felt he was meant to be.

"You managing?" Jimmy asked, when he got to the table, and Thomas rose to pull out his chair for him. Jimmy snorted, and pulled out Thomas's chair in return, so that they were stalemated. Finally they both sat down at the same moment.

"Yes, quite well," Thomas said, smoothly.

"Give me your cigarette," Jimmy said. "That little charm is working?"

"Yes. And she taught me some _chants_," Thomas answered, grimacing. _I feel like a bloody pagan_.

"A pagan, hmm? Other things are worse," Jimmy returned, taking a long drag of Thomas's cigarette and handing it back.

"Tell me some worse things," Thomas said, looking displeased- but Jimmy could see- and _feel_ that Thomas was actually much better, much more in control of his own mind, and it hadn't bothered him to be so far away from Jimmy.

"Tell me what you did with the Madame," Jimmy answered. The band had stopped, and Jimmy looked up, to see a fleet of hired hands carrying an enormous table across the stage. They placed it directly at the edge, and walked off in an organized crowd that reminded him of nothing so much as being at work.

"She had me help her with _readings_," Thomas said, rolling his eyes.

"Used your brain, did she?" Jimmy asked, and put his palm over top of Thomas's. The alcohol was making him feel bold, and so he pulled his chair a little closer. "I'll have that dance, when the music starts again," Jimmy said.

"Ladies! Gentlemen! Your attention _please_!" The band leader called out, and Jimmy turned his eyes to the stage, to see Madame Nicodème standing on it, Miss Abernathy at her side.

"Thank you all so much for keeping company with me this evening!" The medium called out, to the crowd, her girlish voice somehow managing to fill the whole enormous room. The crowd clapped for her, hooting and catcalling, and Jimmy noticed that more of the mingled guests appeared to be soaking wet, their clothes dripping onto the lacquered floor. _What kind of strange things go on here?_ Jimmy wondered- but he felt more _happy _than trepidatious, and he grabbed Thomas's arm and rose to his feet, getting Thomas to stand with him

"I hope you all enjoyed your fortunes!" Madame Nicodème went on, drawing another round of applause from the inebriated gathering, and then Miss Abernathy stepped up onto the large table that had been dragged to the edge of the stage, and held her hand out to the Madame, who took it, and was lifted up in a swirl of gauzy garments.

"Now," The Madame said, steadying herself against Miss Abernathy, "Let's have one more little bit of _magic _before the clock strikes midnight!"

Suddenly the band began to play- Jimmy recognized a deliriously slow version of Ravel's _La Valse- _and Miss Abernathy held out her arms, stepping the Madame into a waltz. Everybody in the club watched, struck almost silent by the strange tableau that the pair of them made, dancing on a table above the orchestra.

"They do this every Saturday," Jimmy heard a girl whisper behind him, to her escort. "I think it's done with wires-"

Suddenly, the orchestra picked up its tempo, the music turning away from Ravel and into something dreamy and touched with jazz, and Madame Nicodème spun out from Miss Abernathy's arms, twirling off of the edge of the table- the crowd gasped, expecting her to fall- but she did _not _fall-

Rather, she remained suspended in the air- dancing with Miss Abernathy six feet above the ground, while the chauffeur, her expression never altering, stepped off of the table to join the Madame above the earth. The medium's gown spun out away from her, filling the air with dark lace, and her slippered feet and the feet of Miss Abernathy rested upon the air as if there were a floor that no one else could see. _Beautiful_, Jimmy thought, awe-struck.

A few people had screamed when they thought the medium would fall- and more screamed, now, the crowd roaring at the spectacle. Madame Nicodème smiled, and Miss Abernathy dipped her partner low, holding her firmly around the waist, and then pulling her back up into an embrace- and while they were dancing, they- gradually, by degrees- somehow found their way to the ground. Their feet touched down, and they continued whirling through the throng as though nothing unusual had transpired- though they danced to a thunderous round of applause.

_Wires,_ Thomas thought, and Jimmy almost hit him for his stubborness. "I can _hear_ that," Jimmy said, unable to take his eyes off of the pair of them.

"That was lovely," he said to Thomas, after a moment, when all the other dancers had filled in to dance around them and the two women could no longer be easily seen. "I had forgotten how lovely."

"Have you seen that before?" Thomas asked, dryly, but Jimmy looked at his face and observed that Thomas was duly impressed.

"Something like it," Jimmy said. "Care for a dance?"

"Yes, I care," Thomas said, and Jimmy took his hand, feeling outrageously bold, and daring, and _unconventional_, and _alive_- and led him onto the dance floor.

The music had picked up in tempo, and all around them people in outrageous costumes danced in strange elaborate ways that Jimmy wasn't familiar with. "What should we dance?" He asked Thomas.

"Hmmm," Thomas said, and smirked. "Probably not the right song for a tango."

"I'd try that," Jimmy said, feeling his stomach twist a little at the idea. _You're a very fetching dance partner_, He thought, making Thomas smile.

"You can still hear me, even with that talisman-thing on?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas nodded.

"What about everyone else?" Jimmy pressed.

"Ah, it's like- it's like being with _you _all the time," Thomas said, looking away from him. "I hear them- but only as- as voices in another room."

"Good. I'm glad," Jimmy said. He was happy with the idea of being able to protect Thomas even when he wasn't actually _present_. Even if he'd had to sacrifice some hair in the bargain.

"Let's see," Thomas said, resting his hands absently on Jimmy's shoulders. Thomas was surveying the other dancers keenly. "I feel so old, I haven't seen a lot of these before-"

"Well, you _are _an old man," Jimmy said, affectionately- but Thomas ignored the barb, his eyes scanning over the dancers for a long moment. "Alright, let's try it," Thomas said. "I think I have it. Step back with your left foot-" Thomas demonstrated, and Jimmy copied him. "Now kick forward- right- and then I think we- ah- step down, and kick your right foot forward- no, your _other_ right, Jimmy- yes, like so- and bring your right knee up, kick back-"

Jimmy copied him, clumsily at first, and then after a few tries he had the rhythm of it, and followed Thomas, who danced with an elegance that very few of the others on the floor possessed. When the song stopped, they were both laughing and out of breath, and Jimmy clapped his hands to his knees, feeling giddy. "You're a natural," Thomas said, but he couldn't quite keep his voice steady. The music changed into something slow, and everyone held their partners closer. The Madame and her chauffeur swayed past Jimmy's elbow, and he looked after them curiously. "I wonder whose hair she's got in her little charm," Jimmy said.

"Isn't it obvious," Thomas responded, his tone making it a statement rather than a question.

Jimmy leaned forward and pulled him into an embrace. "Dance with me like this," Jimmy said, and Thomas took a breath at the sudden proximity. "It's romantic," Jimmy murmured. _I want you_, he thought. _Put your hands on me._

Thomas exhaled and placed his hands against Jimmy, who grabbed his wrists and rearranged them, annoyed. "_Don't_ lead just because I'm shorter," he said, and Thomas smiled at him- one of his genuinely pleased smiles, not the regular sardonic sort. They swayed together. Over his shoulder Jimmy could see many other couples that were atypical- men and men and women with women and women in wet dresses, rendered almost sheer under the lights, and people just kissing on the dance floor for everyone to see. _What a world_, Jimmy thought, and rested his chin against Thomas's neck, pressing their bodies closer.

Thomas moved expertly along the floor, weaving them between other couples, and Jimmy shut his eyes. "I wished for this," he said to Thomas. "I really did."

"I did, too," Thomas said, but Jimmy was not sure that they were talking about the same thing.

Jimmy inhaled, smelling Thomas's aftershave and the faint smell of smoke that always clung to him, and held him as tightly as he could. "I want to go to bed with you now," Jimmy murmured, just loud enough for Thomas to make out. "I want to be close to you."

Thomas nodded, his eyes a bit unfocused, and Jimmy ran one of his hands along the small of Thomas's back. _I want love,_ Jimmy thought, and conjured up memories of the previous night, holding them out from his mind for Thomas to see. _This is how it felt when you put your hands on me- and I still don't want to discuss it- but- _yes_- like that-_

Jimmy knew his attempts at communication had been successful, because Thomas shivered at the memories, and held Jimmy as tightly as Jimmy held him. "Right," Thomas said, quietly. "That's..."

Jimmy put his lips against the curve of Thomas's ear. "I can feel you," he said, deliberately, and pushed his hips against Thomas's for a brief moment.

"Ah," Thomas said. A flush- Thomas's personal _tell_- rose in his cheeks, burning across his nose.

"It's easy to make you hard," Jimmy whispered, wanting to see more color in Thomas's face. He was shocked at his own daring, but the feeling he got from Thomas was well worth it- surprise, and pleasure and embarrassment and a touch of anxiety, all mixed up in such strong physical desire that it felt to Jimmy as if his chest were being compressed and his body set aflame.

"You're no slouch yourself," Thomas said, hoarsely, and Jimmy, with sparks of lust running up and down his spine, leaned in and pressed his lips very gently against Thomas's neck.

"_Hn_," Thomas said, his eyes shutting for an instant- and then Thomas brought one hand up from Jimmy's back and pressed it to his own face. _Yes_, Jimmy thought, feeling triumph and painful lust. _Got you._ Jimmy's own heart was racing, and Thomas, having betrayed the depth of his arousal, removed his hand from his face and grabbed Jimmy's wrist, leading him off of the floor just as the band began another tune.

"Want to go home?" Jimmy asked, sounding more nonchalant than he felt.

"No," Thomas said, when they were at the tables, and downed the rest of his cocktail. "Just back to the pub."

_You know what I mean,_ Jimmy thought, and followed Thomas out of the room. "Should we say goodbye to the Madame?" Jimmy asked, but Thomas shook his head _no_. "I have a terrible feeling we'll see her again sometime," Thomas said, and Jimmy laughed, walking through the foyer with him, and into the cloakroom.

"Don't forget your _umbrella_," Thomas said, with a teasing smirk. They were alone in the quiet room, and Jimmy pressed his mouth to Thomas's lips, just to make sure the other man couldn't get his bearings overly much, and dragged a hand along his side. _I love your mouth,_ Jimmy thought, and touched a hand to Thomas's split lip. Thomas grabbed Jimmy's hand and forced it down to his side. "Put on your coat," he commanded, his voice a little rough- Jimmy would have balked at the directive on principle, just because of the bossy tone Thomas said it in, if he hadn't known it was motivated by lust.

"I _am_ putting on my coat," Jimmy grumbled, and fixed Thomas's hat for him before gathering his own things, making sure his winnings and his Strongheart cards were still in his pockets- and hanging the umbrella over his wrist. "Right, let's go," Jimmy said, and they walked out through the double doors, and into a dark and stormy night.

It was _pouring-_ rain came down from the sky in elegant, translucent sheets, drenching the world and making rivers of the streets. Jimmy wordlessly opened the umbrella. The reason for the wet-clothed dancers he'd seen in the club became quite clear, and Jimmy, feeling utterly-self satisfied, held the umbrella up over himself and Thomas.

"I hope you can hear me gloating in my mind!" Jimmy shouted, over the sound of the gusting wind that accompanied the rain.

"It was a fifty-fifty chance!" Thomas yelled back, and then, presumably for convenience, switched over to thoughts: _It was a lucky guess. Good thing you're a sucker or we'd be soaked through._

Jimmy lifted the umbrella away from Thomas deliberately, letting the monsoon hit him for a moment, and then put it back. _Serves you right_, Jimmy thought, grinning at Thomas's soaked clothes.

_Give me that, you're too short to hold it,_ Thomas thought- even when it was only in his _head_ Jimmy could hear the wickedness in Thomas's voice- and he dragged the umbrella away from Thomas's grasping hands, so that they were both rained on by turns as they played a rough game of tug-of-war on the sidewalk. _I'll throw it away and soak us both if you don't give it to me,_ Jimmy thought, holding on grimly to the handle and trying not to laugh.

_Look, a taxi,_ Thomas thought, and when Jimmy turned to look, Thomas lifted the umbrella well above Jimmy's head, and Jimmy socked him lightly in the stomach, which made Thomas grab his fist with one of his hands- and then Jimmy grabbed the umbrella handle, and- and then a taxi really _did_ roll up to the curb, and they ran to it, shoving each other all the way.

Thomas let Jimmy get in first and then fought against the tearing winds to close the umbrella. By the time he slid into the set next to Jimmy, he was drenched from head to toe, despite his heavy coat.

Jimmy gave the address to the driver, and sat a bit closer to Thomas, so that their legs touched. "Ugh, you're all _wet_," Jimmy said, but didn't pull away. _I love you,_ he thought, and caught the edge of Thomas's smile, and a thought that Thomas probably hadn't wanted him to hear: _That's the best thing, when he says it- or thinks it- I wish he said it more-_

_What?_ Jimmy thought, confused. _You're daft, Thomas, I say it all of the time-_

_Right. Of course,_ Thomas thought, and Jimmy could feel the other man's chagrin.

"You know what I find so bloody ridiculous," Jimmy said aloud, conversationally, to distract Thomas from his embarrassment- "That you can sit here doing what we're doing, wearing that amulet thing around your neck, _recalling_ the events of the evening and the week and the whole business a half a year ago- and _still_ you're not convinced."

"I can't help it," Thomas said, shrugging. "Just the way I am."

"Oh-" Jimmy groaned, and then laughed hopelessly. The taxi pulled up at Hamish House, and Jimmy used some of his winnings to pay the driver. "I'll pay," Thomas said, and Jimmy looked at him. "Why don't you let _me_ pay with _our_ money," Jimmy said, and Thomas rolled his eyes, but gave in. On the stairwell they shoved each other, until Jimmy knocked rather too loudly into a wall, and Thomas, between rounds of choked and silent laughter, hissed at him to be quiet.

When they got into the room and shut themselves in Jimmy was achingly hard, and he stood for a moment leaning against the door, as Thomas stripped off his sopping suit, watching him. _I love your body, what an odd thing to love so much_, Jimmy thought, and moved his hand to cup his own cloth-covered erection.

"Not _that_ odd, I hope," Thomas said pulling off his undershirt, and then he turned around to look at Jimmy. Thomas's face flushed when he saw what Jimmy's hand was doing, and he crossed the room in a few long strides. Suddenly he was in Jimmy's space, and Jimmy's heart fluttered at the closeness of him. "Here," Thomas said, and replaced Jimmy's fingers with his own, caressing him through the front of his trousers.

"That's better," Jimmy said, trying to keep his voice steady, and put his arms around Thomas's neck, pulling their faces together. "Kiss me," Jimmy said, against Thomas's lips- they were already kissing, with such ease that Jimmy scarcely noticed when it had begun. By fumbling steps he and Thomas moved across the room- Jimmy shed his entire outfit, and Thomas kicked off his cotton pants and unbuttoned his glove, until he was naked except for his leather-corded necklace.

_I want you to do _that _to me,_ Jimmy thought, climbing onto the excellent bed- and Thomas gave him an odd look, sitting down next to him. "Mm," Jimmy said, reaching his fingers out. He stroked his hands down Thomas's front, all the way to his penis, and then ran his fingers along the underside of the shaft, making Thomas exhale unsteadily, and grasp Jimmy's upper arm.

"How's you hand?" Thomas asked, suddenly, looking at the handkerchief. "Fine," Jimmy said, not caring at all about his honourable wound- a wound of _love_, really- when Thomas was in front of him. "I can't think about anything else when you look like _that_," Jimmy said. "Come here and do it to me. Please."

"But-" Thomas touched Jimmy's chest, his brow furrowing. "I thought you wanted that in reverse."

Jimmy laughed. "I'm not gonna make you, not on your _birthday_," he said, kissing Thomas's cheek. "I'm much too considerate."

"No," Thomas said, joining Jimmy under the comforter. "No, let's do that." _I'm sorry I gave you so much grief over it,_ Thomas added, mentally, and ran his hands over Jimmy's arms.

Jimmy felt that Thomas _meant _for them to do it- and he was suddenly nervous, unaccountably and unexpectedly. Well- he perhaps had a _little_ account for being nervous- apparently he'd botched the job the first time he'd tried it, hurting Thomas and making a fool of himself in the process.

"You didn't make a fool of yourself," Thomas said, touching his face. "It was lovely. You're lovely, Jimmy." He said it simply, but behind his words Jimmy sensed a veil, thinly dropped, over a well that contained a terrifyingly bottomless depth of emotion, a feeling dizzying in scope and grandeur.

"I think I'm already better at reading your feelings than you are at mine," Jimmy said, proudly, and kissed Thomas's mouth for long moments more, brushing against him under the sheets.

"Ah," Thomas said, breathlessly, turning his head aside. "Right. Hold on." Jimmy was glad that it was Thomas who took it upon himself to get the petrol jelly, because it gave him a little moment to gather his nerves. _You have to go very gently. And carefully. And Not Too Fast. And don't lose control. And make sure it's good for him._ Jimmy checked these things off on a private checklist- but apparently not private enough, because Thomas came back over, and put a soothing hand against the back of Jimmy's neck. "It's fine," Thomas said, and Jimmy looked up at him, trying not to let any of his concern show. "I _know_," Jimmy said, swallowing around a lump in his throat, and he forced himself not to hesitate when Thomas handed him the little jar of jelly.

"Wouldn't you rather do it yourself?" Jimmy asked, sitting up unsteadily on his knees as Thomas layed on his back, and Thomas shook his head _no_, smirking. "Go on," Thomas said, cajolingly, and then: "No. Wait-" He half-turned away from Jimmy, and rearranged the pillows behind himself, putting one under his own hips, with such knowledgable ease that Jimmy could not help feeling intimidated. "You don't do that for me," Jimmy pointed out, accusingly, unscrewing the lid of the jar.

"There's no need," Thomas said, his knowing smirk unchanged, and Jimmy felt an urge to wipe the smirk off of his face and replace it with a much less composed expression. "Fine," Jimmy said, ignoring the hammering of his heart and the unsteady clutch of his breath- and he spread the jelly around with trembling hands, and leaned up against Thomas, pushing inside of him with two fingers.

"_Hmm_, very nice," Thomas said, his face flushing, but his expression not altering at all. Deliberately he quirked an eyebrow at Jimmy. "Go to hell," Jimmy said- but he said it unconvincingly, and moved his fingers inside of Thomas, echoing what Thomas had done to him the night before.

"Yes, good," Thomas said, his voice uneven, and he grabbed the back of Jimmy's head, leaning up from the pillows to kiss him crushingly. Thomas's kiss tasted like champagne cocktail, and Jimmy licked the inside of his mouth, moving his fingers in the same way he moved his tongue. _Oh Thomas I love you,_ Jimmy thought, and kissed him again and again, moving his hand, rocking back and forth, his own penis throbbing with how hard it was.

"Ah, _ah_, alright," Thomas said, and Jimmy withdrew his fingers, and suddenly Thomas sat fully up, brushing his hair out of his eyes, and pushed Jimmy over onto the bed, Jimmy allowed himself to be pushed, thinking perhaps he wouldn't have to go through with it and risk a botched job again after all. "Have to get you, too, though," Thomas said, thickly, and crawled down Jimmy's body, stopping at his erection- and wrapped his lips around it, pinning Jimmy by the hips and swallowing him entirely. "Oh, _shite_," Jimmy moaned, unprepared for the sensation. His hips- totally against his will- made to buck up from the mattress- but Thomas kept him still forcibly, and Jimmy moaned, feeling Thomas's tongue run over him until he couldn't stand it-

-and then Thomas sat back up, wiping off his mouth- his lips remarkably red and remarkably beautiful- and Jimmy made an agonized sound. "_God_," he said, "_oh- _what are you..."

"Lubrication," Thomas said, and layed back down, next to Jimmy, and Jimmy, realizing that he was not going to get out of it after all, sat back up.

"You're nervous now but you _begged_ for this," Thomas said, quizzically. "You wouldn't stop goin' on about it."

"I was of two minds," Jimmy said, and kneeled in front of Thomas again, on limbs that shook. _God it hurts, I'm so bloody hard,_ Jimmy thought, and Thomas took a breath at the thought. "Do it, then," he said to Jimmy, but he said it gently, and Jimmy kissed him, regardless of where his mouth had been. "I'm _doing_ it," Jimmy muttered, and took himself in hand.

"Slowly," Thomas said quietly, but the word came out very low, giving Jimmy shivers down his spine.

Jimmy pushed against Thomas very carefully, watching the odd look of concentration on Thomas's face. "Hm, _oh_," Jimmy said, knowing his voice was tense- but Thomas was so _hot_ and it felt so- it felt like so _much _-

"Calm, be steady, be calm," Thomas said, his hands coming up to touch Jimmy's face soothingly.

"I'm afraid I'm going to come right now," Jimmy ground out, his tone clipped. His arms were shaking. _Thomas I don't know if I can-_

"Yes, yes you can," Thomas said, softly, though his own voice was marked by tremors. "You can, shh, it feels lovely, doesn't it- _ah-_ yes, it's alright, Jimmy, I love you, just be steady-"

They stayed still together for long moments, until Jimmy could get a breath again. "Good?" Thomas asked him. "Good," Jimmy said, though he could hardly think. _Are you alright?_

"Yes," Thomas said, and moved his body against Jimmy's, very slowly. It was enough to drag a sound out of Jimmy, and Thomas stilled. "Shh," he said.

"I _am_ being quiet," Jimmy whispered, without conviction, and Thomas moved up against him again.  
"_Agh- _oh- _ah,_" Jimmy said, gritting his teeth. "That feels-"

"Yes," Thomas said, his eyes closing for a second as he moved- but then they flew open again, and he looked searchingly into Jimmy's face. "That's good," Thomas said, running his ruined hand through Jimmy's hair, and he sounded almost sane- but Jimmy could see how hard Thomas was and how his chest rose and fell, wildly, in painful shudders that resounded through his body and pulsed through Jimmy's erection.

"Hmm, that's- _ah-_ you can move a bit," Thomas said, rocking back and forth- but Jimmy could not bring himself to move, he felt paralyzed with sensation- until Thomas sat up, almost pulling off of Jimmy, to drag him down into a long kiss, their bodies joined. _It's good, don't be afraid,_ Thomas thought, kissing Jimmy. _Move with me, it's alright, I want you to-_

"_Ah, _alright, _yes," _Jimmy said, weakly, and pushed himself into Thomas a bit, so that Thomas made a muffled sound, wrapping his arms around Jimmy's waist, forcing them into deeper contact still-

"Hn, right there, that feels very nice- _yes_, right there," Thomas said, when Jimmy moved a certain way, and his muscles clenched around Jimmy so unbearably tightly that it was painful. "_Oh,"_ Jimmy groaned, weakly, his body aching- _God, god,_ he thought, even the chain of his thoughts broken- and from his throat came a stranger's voice, a madman's voice- "_Thomas-_oh, I ca-I _can't, _I_ can't-"_

"Yes you can," Thomas said, his voice breaking, and he moved against Jimmy _harder_, "yes, that's right, it's alright-"

"Ah _ahshite_ oh, god, _oh,"_ Jimmy babbled, and felt his stomach clench invountarily- he saw sparks, and everything in his comprehension narrowed down to the point when he was inside Thomas- there was nothing else- and Thomas, with his arms still around Jimmy, dragged his teeth along Jimmy's neck- and it pushed Jimmy over the edge- mentally he tried a rough refrain- _don't go to fast don't go too fast don't you bloody do it-_ holding his torso rigid so as not to pound into Thomas and hurt him. "_Ah_, yes," Thomas said, and ground their bodies together roughly-

_"Oh! Oh _god _ohh_- oh y-yes, _yes_-" Jimmy said, and came extremely hard, his body shaking. "Uh. God." For a long minute he lay inside and atop Thomas, not remembering anything, his mind a blissful blank slate, as aftershocks and electrical sparks worked through him. Finally he remembered something of reality, and some of Thomas's thoughts brushed against his consciousness.

_He looks so fine that way-_

_Could watch that over and over forever_

_Oh Jimmy I do love you-_

Jimmy realized that Thomas was still painfully hard, and reached a hand between them, leaning up. "Sorry," Jimmy said, smiling at Thomas's red, lust-struck face. "That was so good I sort've went away for a moment."

"Understandab- _ah,_" Thomas said, when Jimmy wrapped a hand around his penis. "Mmm- _ah- I-"_

"Don't say you bloody _can't,_ now you've got me doing it," Jimmy said, and bit Thomas's mouth gently, but with an edge of bared teeth at the end, drawing a noise from the other man.

"Ah- I _can't _I really _can't-"_ Thomas moaned, ignoring Jimmy's words, and gripped his hands tightly around Jimmy- his eyes black, his chest shaking, his fingers digging into Jimmy's shoulders- _Perfect,_ Jimmy thought, and kissed him once more, squeezing his erection tightly- and Thomas moaned again, and came, his body racked by shudders.

"Ah," he said, when he had done, and Jimmy slumped forward on him, their foreheads bumping together. "Happy Birthday," Jimmy said, feeling bashful, and hid his face in Thomas's neck. _That was good. _Jimmy thought. _Was that good?_

"Very good," Thomas said, his voice lazy and full of warmth. "Very."

"I _knew_ it," Jimmy said, triumphantly, lifting himself slightly up, to look at Thomas. "I _knew_ I could be excellent, with a bit of practice."

"World's best," Thomas said, soberly, but amusement lit his eyes.

"Damned straight," Jimmy said, and laughed a little, pressing his face against Thomas's bare skin. "It wasn't like last night," Jimmy said, after some minutes had passed. "It was _wonderful_, don't get me wrong- but it was different. Last night I _felt_ you and you felt me- what I felt, I mean."

"Mmm. Must be my charm," Thomas said, and Jimmy toyed with the little leather bag at the end of the necklace. The wind howled round the windows, and rain pelted against the panes with a sound like hail. "Wild storm," Jimmy said, tracing circles against Thomas's skin. "Quite nice, isn't it?"

"I think the rain is sad, somehow," Thomas said, leaning up to get a cigarette. "Lonely, maybe."

"You're not lonely _anymore_," Jimmy said, taking a cigarette himself.

"I wasn't talking about me, I was talking about-"

"The rain, right," Jimmy put in, snidely, and Thomas grasped for his bandaged hand. "Ought to have a proper look at it," Thomas said, and very carefully unwrapped his hand.

"Impressive," Thomas said, looking at the cut on his palm. _I may have gone a bit overboard,_ Jimmy thought, staring at the wound. "It didn't particularly hurt when I did it," Jimmy said.

"You had something else on your mind," Thomas answered, but his expression of concentration didn't change, and he peered closely at Jimmy's hand. "I should clean it."

"You put vodka on it already, Doctor Barrow," Jimmy said. "I'm bushed. Let's not get up."

"I need to wash," Thomas groused, but he held Jimmy close to him, as if in contradiction. "Tell me what happened with the medium," Jimmy said.

"Ah," Thomas said, and took a thoughtful drag off his cigarette. "She had me sit in for fortunes- _everybody_ cries at her readings, I think she aims to hit every nerve- and she asked me some questions, and taught me that stupid chant."

"Does it work?" Jimmy asked, not doubting for an instant that it did.

"I don't know," Thomas said, rolling his eyes.

"Well, give it to us, then," Jimmy said, reaching over Thomas to tap his cigarette against the ashtray.

"No." Thomas said, flatly, and Jimmy gave him the most pleading look he could manage. _Please,_ Jimmy thought, putting some force into it. _My hand and my hair-_

"That's low," Thomas muttered, but he looked sorrier than Jimmy had wanted him to be, and he began, hesitantly, to recite to mumble some string of words.

"What's that, speak up," Jimmy said, prodding Thomas in the ribs. "Can't hear you."

"I _said_, it goes: 'Divisible they are, and in _islands _I am-

alone for once, _Cogito Ergo Sum_: 'I _think_, therefore I _am_,'

invisible, so far, the wayward thoughts of man,

give respite to this mind, a traveler in strange lands,' "

Thomas finished, looking annoyed- with himself or Jimmy or the silly rhyme, Jimmy didn't know.

"It doesn't sound like magic," Jimmy said.

"It's an exercise, I think," Thomas said. "A trick for your own mind, not a _spell_ or some ridiculous thing."

"Ridiculous, right," Jimmy said, tiredly. "But it lets you sort of- put people _away_ from yourself?"

"Don't worry," Thomas said, smiling. "I wouldn't do it with you. Am I going to be getting my surprise now?"

Jimmy pretended upset. "I _think_ I've- uh, _given _quite a lot already," he said, trying to look gravely serious.

"You're still hiding something. Tell me," Thomas said, rubbing the fingers of his free hand against Jimmy's back, making him shiver pleasantly.

"Oh, I'll tell you tomorrow," Jimmy said, forcing his dreamy thoughts of the fortune that he was going to win away from the top part of his mind. "I swear it. It'll be... ah, _ready_, by then."

"Promise," Thomas said, raising an eyebrow.

"Promise," Jimmy said, and rubbed the end of his nose against the end of Thomas's. "My mum used to do this to me when I was little," Jimmy said, bumping their noses together. "She's say, uh, 'give us the kiss of the butterflies'."

"Bit weird of a comparison," Thomas said, the corners of his mouth upticking in amusement.

"Yes," Jimmy said, laughing, "well, you remind me tremendously of my mum, I'm _sure_ that's why I'm in love with you."

"Agh, _disgusting_," Thomas said, making Jimmy laugh harder.

"It is odd, though," Jimmy said, after a moment. "I never _did_ manage to love anyone but my parents, until I met you. It was a few lonely years."

"Poor Jimmy, nobody to love except himself," Thomas said. He looked half-asleep, and Jimmy kissed his head and took the fag end of the cigarette out of his hand. "I love you, though," Jimmy said. "And _I_ won't leave you or betray you like the Duke or Keeves or any of that lot. You just had to wait for me, y'know."

"You were worth waiting for," Thomas said. "I'm so worn, I feel like I could sleep an entire day."

Jimmy thought of the morning, when he had woken up and rushed downstairs to find Thomas crippled by his own powers, and in his mind he saw again the bright, alarming flash of blood on Thomas's face. "Yes, you must be done in," Jimmy said, curling against Thomas steadfastly. "Mmm. You better wake me and not turn off the alarm," Thomas said. "Otherwise we'll miss our train."

_We're not going back to Downton_, Jimmy thought, and immediately stifled the thought, but luckily Thomas seemed to have missed it- when Jimmy looked over at him anxiously, he saw the other man's eyes were closed. "I love you," Jimmy intoned, very deliberately saying it aloud, so that Thomas couldn't claim that he never said it. "Tomorrow you'll have to give me back as good as I gave you."

Thomas's eyes remained shut, but he smiled sweetly, and Jimmy caressed his face, lying back against him. "I couldn't ever be so good," Thomas said, his voice slurry with liquor and tiredness.

"You're better and you know it, you're just too in _love _to tell," Jimmy said, smiling happily in the dark. With this last pronouncement he put his head to Thomas's chest, comforted by the dual ticking of Thomas's heart and his own metronome, and he fell asleep that way.

* * *

Jimmy dreamed. In his dreams he wound through many halls, navigating a palace of gold, Thomas always just behind him, running to catch up. Jimmy laughed at the merry chase he gave- they ran though chambers where china plates whirled slowly through the air like an assembly of airborne dancers, and Jimmy skidded through a narrow doorframe, finding himself in the room of black velvet cloth and white magician's gloves, only to discover that the hands, for once, had ceased to beckon, and only clapped together in silent applause. "That's right, I've bloody _got_ it!" Jimmy crowed, throwing his arms up in happiness, and ran through the thick darkness and into a narrow corridor. He realized, in the slow way of realizing that is specific to dreams, that he was standing in the men's corridor at Downton, before the door of his room. His _old_ room- from before he and Thomas had shared one bed between them.

"Found you," Thomas said, appearing behind him- perhaps he'd been there all along, Jimmy couldn't tell- but Thomas stood behind Jimmy, wrapping his arms around him. "Look-" Jimmy said, and they stared together, as dark water crept slowly from underneath the door to Jimmy's room. It spilled out, thicker than water should be- dark viscous dream-stuff- into the hall, so that the pair of them stepped back, avoiding the flood as it licked at the tips of their shoes.

"That's odd-" Jimmy said, and then he turned, and he'd lost Thomas, somehow. "Hello?" He asked, uncertainly, looking into the darkness, and the water poured all around him, so that he had to run again, this time not in fun but in _fear_, lest the flood find him-

_Oh, no_, Jimmy thought, because a rushing came to his ears, and he recognized it as a precursor to the Voice- and he crouched down, somewhere in a dark alley, among rain-soaked cobblestone, and pressed his hands to his ears, trying to ward off the painful sound-

_"LISTEN YOU MUST PRACTICE AND YOU MUST LISTEN AND YOU MUST HEAR THE WORDS BEHIND THE WORDS_,"

the Voice thundered, so loud that it drew tears from Jimmy's eyes. _"I've done it ALL! _All _of it!"_ Jimmy screamed back into the cacophany- and he fell through the cobblestones, into some blank white space, where Thomas stood beside him, in a black magician's suit, and on his hands the most particular pair of white gloves-

"Thomas," Jimmy said, hoarsely, thankful that the noise had gone, and he tried to get up- but for some reason he could not, and he lay helplessly on his back.  
Thomas peered down at him, his face lit by some inner fire, and Jimmy thought that he had never looked finer or more perfect.

"You have to_ listen,_" Thomas said, "and you have to _answer_, or I can't do my _trick_-"

"I am," Jimmy said, nodding. "I am, I told you, I've done it all-"

"There's something _else_," Thomas said, and bent low over him, his face shining with an impossible beauty. "You have to _drop_ your cards-"

"Drop my cards?" Jimmy asked, blankly, and tried to sit up again, but there was_ some_ reason that he could not-

"It's so terribly important," Thomas said, and took Jimmy's face in his hands, and Jimmy saw that Thomas was crying, although Thomas himself seemed not to know that tears streamed down his face. "It's so terribly important, love, oh my love you must remember to _drop your cards_-"

* * *

"_Huh-_" Jimmy gasped as he woke, and then remembered that there was some reason he must try to be very quiet. Thomas did not even stir against him, nor did the even rhythm of his breathing stutter, and so Jimmy, after a moment, climbed out of bed as carefully as possible.

_Drop your cards,_ Jimmy thought, as he crossed to the washroom, and the thought brought with it a desperate feeling and the image of Thomas's face, shining with tears. Jimmy paused before the mirror, pondering it, and realized his arms had broken out in gooseflesh.

_Some dream_, he thought- but the dream was not so pressing as the urgent reality of what he was about to do. Jimmy felt his own pulse, a bit quick, and in the mirror his eyes were wide. _I wonder how much I can make in one day_, Jimmy thought, and _that_ thought gave him shivers also. A queer sort of feeling worked through Jimmy- the feeling of being against a wall- but also the feeling of _freedom_, stretching away from him in an endless expanse.

_Somewhere in the country. Maybe not _this_ country,_ Jimmy thought. _But somewhere far away from _people_, so that Thomas can have a bit of a rest from _thoughts_, and then later, when he gets a handle on it, a city- and we'll go dancing every night, not a care between us and all the money in the world-_

Quietly Jimmy washed and dressed, and fixed his hair, and picked up his Strongheart cards and put them in his coat. _Drop _these _cards?_ Jimmy thought, touching the deck through the cloth of his suit. _Not likely. I need these for luck._

The last thing he did before he left the room was turn off the alarm. Thomas slept on, oblivious.

Outside Jimmy hailed a taxi and had it take him to a restaurant. The day was still dreary- but it was only regular rain, not the dramatics of the previous evening's storm, and Jimmy found his umbrella quite sufficient.

Jimmy knew he had to eat, had to have his wits about him, but instead he ordered only coffee and toast, and thumbed through the newspaper with shaking fingers. The first part of the Plan required his going to a place like The August Room- that was exactly, in fact, where Jimmy intended to go- a club _with_ gambling but all very legitimate, nothing untoward. He'd get a base, gambling with the regular folks, and when he had a little fortune to be going on with, he's go the Peale and play among the sharks. And make a _real_ fortune.

"Right," Jimmy said, aloud. The words on the newspaper turned to a jumble, and he stared at them blankly. For one last time he played his game of cards- but the ease of it was effortless, now, and Jimmy knew his guesses were flawless. After the first hundred right answers Jimmy stopped even checking to make sure that he was correct.

Jimmy hailed another taxi and went to the August Room. In the cab he pondered the problem of admittance, and hoped that the story he'd devised as part of the Plan would be quite sufficient. _Chin up,_ he told himself- and he _was_ frightened, a little- but he was excited, too.

The August Room was somber and intimidating- but Jimmy, who had seen every type of high society place in the course of his job, was unaffected, and he put on a posh voice at the desk. "Name?" The clerk asked, looking rather unimpressed with Jimmy.

"Fred Kostavas," Jimmy said. "It may be under 'Alfred'. I'm not a member, but I'm a guest of the Duke of Crowborough. Phil said he'd put my name on your list." Jimmy tapped his fingers against the desk, as if in impatience. He hoped that his guess was right- that the Duke would have a membership here, at this prestigious, stuffy place- or, if he did not, that he, being a Duke, wouldn't be turned away from _any_ club in London. It occurred to Jimmy that he was at the moment consciously impersonating the Duke's lover, and that if there were rumors about town then this clerk might be thinking something along those lines. _Good,_ Jimmy thought. _I'm his lover, better let me in._

He tried to read the clerk's mind, but the clerk was clearly an inscrutable sort and Jimmy couldn't get a bead on him. "Yes, I see you here," the clerk said, as though he were surprised, after looking through the ledger for a long moment. "I see me here, too," Jimmy said, smartly, hiding his relief, and turned on his heel, heading into the depths of the club.

In this place Jimmy found the men at cards- almost all older than him, and arranged in a quiet game. _Only the rich gamble at ten o'clock in the morning,_ Jimmy thought, and waited politely until he could be let into the game. His hand- the cut-up one, that was- ached, but Jimmy did not cover it with a handkerchief or a glove- someone could look on that suspiciously, accuse him of cheating- especially when he played as well as he _planned _to do- and Jimmy wanted them to have no reason to throw him out.

Jimmy got on rather well with the old men, and they played lazily, as if they did not care whether he took their money or not- though they gambled with really _large_ amounts of it- and Jimmy, taking his cues from them, played the same way, losing a round here or there on purpose, and laughing all the while.

After two hours Jimmy had won almost six-hundred pounds, and he forced himself to leave, making polite excuses and being deluged, as he left, with many invitations to return, soon.

On the sidewalk Jimmy bent half-over, his hands to his knees, and took great deep breaths. He had never _had_ so much money on him at one time before. _You did it, you bloody did it_, Jimmy told himself, and then stood up, forcing composure. The hardest part was yet to come, but Jimmy was riding high on his victory. It had been easy. It had been _so_ easy.

_We could become the richest men in England_, Jimmy thought, and laughed aloud, a little hysterically. _My God, what can stop me now?_

He would be able to take care of Thomas and himself in the manner they deserved- and the thought was so enchanting that Jimmy was buoyed up by it, and by his success. He decided on a stroll down the avenue- a place like the Peale wouldn't open until the evening- it was and under-cover-of-darkness place, that. In the gentle rain Jimmy walked, whistling- his chest feeling as though it would burst with elation- and eventually he came upon a little bohemian sort of district, where there were pubs and shops aplenty.

Jimmy felt the money in his pocket acutely- and when he passed a shop with many clocks all ticking merrily away in the window, he veered into it.

"Good afternoon to you," The shop-owner said- Jimmy assumed he was the shop-owner because he _looked_ so perfectly as though he ought to be. "You, too," Jimmy said, and lingered by the counter, "D'ya have- I'm looking for a grandfather clock," Jimmy said, leaning over the table. "Something in mahogany."

"I have about a half-dozen," the shopkeeper said, and he pushed his glasses up under his fringe of white hair, and came round the counter. Jimmy followed him through the shop. He felt an acute enjoyment at the sound of the ticking from all sides- how it filled the room- and he imagined a house filled with the sounds of clocks and metronomes and music, and he never too far away from the beat of Thomas's heart.

"Here we are," The shopkeeper said, and Jimmy _focused_ his attention on the man, and got a vague sense of tranquility, and something about his dinner plans, but not his name- the thoughts were like grains of rice, and they tumbled away from Jimmy. _Still only incidental telepathy_, Jimmy thought, annoyed with himself for not having 'the gift'. _Well, _he thought, _at least I have the cards._

"These are nice," Jimmy said, vaguely- he didn't know what exactly to ask for, not being overly savvy when it came to antique clocks. Jimmy looked at the assortment, but they all looked the same to him, and he hit on an idea.

"Which is your favorite?" Jimmy asked the man. "I have to get one for a present- a housewarming present- but I don't know the first thing about it."

"Well, you know the _first_ thing, you know the wood you want," the shopkeeper said, not unkindly, and Jimmy nodded, feeling that he could trust the man to give him an honest opinion.

"These are mahogany," the man said, gesturing with one aged finger to a handful of clocks. "The best of these are there, there, and _there_. That one-" he pointed to an impressive clock in the corner- "-is the costliest... but for my _personal_ taste?"

"Yes," Jimmy said, nodding.

"I prefer this," the shopkeeper said, and pointed at the very clock that Jimmy most admired.

"I like how it has those moons on it," Jimmy said, taking a step closer.

"Yes," the man said, stepping up with him to inspect the clock. "I'd be lying if I said it was terribly rare style- just a longcase clock, probably from here- the _nicest _ones aren't made in this country, unfortunately- but the clockmaker who did it- I forget his name, it's on the papers inside the trunk- had such a particular flare. Lovely shape to the aperture. And the third keyhole is for the chime, this one plays something interesting- i forget what-"

"Not Westminster Quarters?" Jimmy asked, and the man opened the case of the clock, and pulled out a little key. "Hmm, let's see," he said, and turned the key, winding it. "This is an eight-day movement, so it only has to be wound once a week."

"I like the colors of the moons," Jimmy said, feeling foolish at his lack of knowledge. "They're quite nice."

"Yes," the shopkeeper said, "there we are."

The clock's chimes began to play the _Ode to Joy_ melody, and Jimmy stood in silence while the full tune played, a strange feeling, full of meaning, came over him.

"I'll take it," Jimmy said, when the clock went silent. "I'll take it today. But I can't _take_ it, I don't have a car here."

"I could have it shipped somewhere for you," the shopkeeper offered, looking only slightly surprised at Jimmy's sudden desicion.

"Yes, that'd be-" Jimmy paused, thinking. He truly didn't _know_ where he and Thomas would be in a week. "-that'd be fine," Jimmy said, and when he filled out the paper the shopkeeper gave him, he put Downton's address. _They can store it for us for a bit,_ Jimmy thought, smugly. _And when we go to fetch it we'll be regular folks._ _Get to speak when spoken to and all that._

Jimmy paid for the clock in cash, shook the shop-owner's hand, and strode out into the gloomy afternoon, with such a feeling of excitement that the very air seemed electric. _I want a drink_, Jimmy thought, but immediately crushed the urge. He'd have to be very sober tonight.

Further down the street Jimmy went into a place that seemed to sell all manner of upper-crust clothing. Jimmy ordered himself an entire new suit, and the tailor- a little man with an enormous forehead and beautifully cut clothing- measured him out for it. "Yeah, in the dark blue, that's handsome, isn't it?" Jimmy said, happily. "It most certainly is," said the tailor. His name was Oleg, Jimmy learned, and he had three daughters, each the apple of his eye.

"Do you ever want children?" Oleg asked Jimmy, as he took his measurements. "Don't move around so."

Jimmy huffed and made himself stand at attention the way he did when he was working. "I don't care if I have children, really," Jimmy said, feeling generous about the idea of _anything_ in this brave new world where he was holding _all_ the cards. "I just want to be happy, and have the person I love be happy, and do what I want."

"Cheers," Oleg said, chuckling. "Aren't those just words to live by."

"That's me," Jimmy said, laughing. "Jimmy Kent, philosopher-at-large."

Jimmy forced himself to eat a hearty meal, though it tasted like _nothing_, as if he were shoving cotton into his mouth. He ate anyways, the melody of _Ode to Joy_ playing ceaselessly in his skull. These many blocks away from Thomas, Jimmy couldn't sense the touch of the other man's mind, and Jimmy felt an odd longing for it- though it _was _too much intimacy, probably, for a person to bear. _I want that intimacy_, Jimmy thought. _I want all of it. I want everything._

After eating Jimmy turned his feet back to Hamish House. This would be a difficult part- but Jimmy knew that if he didn't leave _some_ money back, he would gamble it all away, especially if he was _losing_ a hand for any reason. _Have to leave a bit back for emergencies_, Jimmy thought. _But suppose Thomas is awake and he tries to stop me?_

Jimmy took a deep breath. He was prepared to do anything in order to be allowed to complete his plan. He would _fight_ his way out of the room if he had to, and if with his "foolhardy" actions he _hurt_ Thomas or caused an argument between them, well- it would all be sorted in a few hours. _It's worth it,_ Jimmy told himself, grimly. _Man doesn't know what's good for him._ He didn't _want_ to fight with Thomas, though- and by now they had missed their train and Thomas would probably be livid.

Jimmy paused outside the door to their room, trying to gague Thomas's mood- but he got only a faint feeling from Thomas, and determined, with relief, that he was still sleeping.

Jimmy entered the room as quietly as he could, and looked Thomas over- though it was getting to be evening Thomas still slept as though he had not slept in many weeks, his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his bad hand curled against the pillow. Jimmy wanted to touch him, but there was too much of a chance that Thomas might be roused, so Jimmy stepped away from him. Jimmy flipped around the alarm clock- so that Thomas could not easily know the time, if he _did_ wake while Jimmy was still in the room. He paused at the table, and threw down a handful of pound notes. _There we go, that's a bit laid by-_ Jimmy thought, and then cut off the thought- he was trying not to think at _all_, so that he wouldn't wake the telepath.

Behind him, Thomas stirred, and Jimmy's heart skipped a beat. "G'morning," Thomas said, his voice thick with sleep, and Jimmy tried to blank his mind. Carefully he stood in front of the mantel-clock, blocking it from view, and pretended to fiddle with his metronome.

"Morning," Jimmy replied, quietly.

"Wha' time is it?" Thomas asked, but his eyes did not open. "Eleven," Jimmy said, trying not to acknowledge the _actual_ time mentally. "You have another hour to sleep, and you need it. Just rest. I'm goin' out to get the paper, and then I'll pack our things."

"No," Thomas said, faintly. "Don't pack for me, you're terrible at it..." With this pronouncement Thomas rolled back over, putting his face to his hands. Jimmy caught a bit of his thoughts- _I love you, don't forget to wake me up-_

"I love you too, Thomas," Jimmy said. "I'll be right back." In the hallway Jimmy refused to give in to the wild hammering of his heart at the close call, and went on downstairs.

It took an _hour_ to find the Peale. Jimmy had gotten dropped off on Whitechapel, but the club wasn't on the street proper. A alleyway between a dingy cafe and an ominous-looking factory building led Jimmy into a stange open square, with industrial-looking buildings in it. There were many alleyways leading away from the cobblestone square, all of them identical, and something about all those dark corridors gave Jimmy an uneasy feeling, as though eyes were watching him from the darkness. _You're just jumpy, that's all-_ Jimmy told himself, and continued on. At the end of the industrial complex a small building, much older than those around it, squatted. It looked like an old wound on the ugly face of modernism, but it was lit inside, and Jimmy could hear the sounds of poorly played jazz music drifting out. _No sign over the door_, Jimmy thought- and that fact somehow made him more certain that this was indeed a place where fortunes could be made and lost. Jimmy reached _out_ in his head, and felt around the thoughts of the comer-and-goers, until he heard the name _Peale_ in somebody's head- and, satisfied that it was the correct place, he went inside.

The _Peale_ was dimly lit- and everybody looked up when Jimmy walked in- it was _that_ sort of place. Jimmy felt momentary diappointment- it was small and, rather cheap-looking, and he saw no kind of card playing going on _anywhere_.

_But of course they wouldn't have their tournaments out here, _Jimmy thought, and sidled up to the bar. The bartender was serving pints in spotty glasses that Mr. Carson would _never_ have allowed at a table-not even at the servant's table.

"Evening," Jimmy said, when the bartender did not acknowledge him, and he was given only a sideways look and a nod.

Jimmy cleared his throat- but spoke in an undertone. "Reggie Zorosky said you have poker here," he said to the bartender.

The bartender regarded him expressionlessly. "I don't know any Zorosky," he said, flatly, but Jimmy could feel that he was lying. "The buy-in is fifty pounds," the man said, looking Jimmy up and down to see if that would deter him.

Jimmy had been prepared for this, however and managed not to flinch at the price, but instead made an elaborate show of laying the bills out on the counter, and the bartender gathered up the money, and indicated to Jimmy to follow him. They walked around the bar and through a door at the back- in the low lit hallway behind, Jimmy could _sense_ the pulse of minds at cards. _This is really it,_ Jimmy thought, as the bartender opened a second door. _Listen, practice, straighten up, fly right. And win._

In the room was a long table, and all around it sat players. A dealer was over to one end, calling out the game. Strangely vivid murals adorned all the walls- of ballet dancers moving through pirouettes and opera houses, and Jimmy felt as though he were as far away from the world he had always known as it was possible to be. In Jimmy's chest, his heart pounded with intensity, going faster than his metronome.

_Thomas,_ Jimmy thought, _I'm going to win, I promise_- and for a second he heard Thomas's voice in his head, saying desperately: "You must remember love oh you must at the _end _remember to drop your_ cards_-"

_Not bloody likely,_ Jimmy thought- and he touched his pocket, making sure his Strongheart cards were still there, took a deep breath for courage, and walked, by measured steps, into the room.

* * *

Thomas dreamed that he was chasing Jimmy through a palace of gold, Jimmy always several paces ahead of him. Jimmy was _laughing_, and as they wove through the rooms the light faded, its brilliance diminishing a bit, and Thomas saw that the golden castle had been Downton all along, and how could he have ever thought it was anything else?

But the rooms were not all Downton's rooms, and Thomas plunged into a space so dark that it looked as though the very air was made of thick black cloth, and saw Jimmy- Jimmy dressed as a magician- vanish somewhere beyond the radius of light, crowing, triumphantly: "That's right, I've bloody _got_ it!"

Thomas was not sure what that meant, but suddenly they were upstairs in the corridor, and Thomas approached Jimmy, who stood facing the door of his old room. "Found you," Thomas said, intending to startle him, and wrapped his hands around Jimmy's waist. But Jimmy only stared at the ground, and Thomas saw that there was a flood of dark water coming from under the door. "Look-" Jimmy said, pointing at the water as though it frightened him, and Thomas dragged him backwards away from it. In the wall there was a door Thomas had never seen before- a _theatre _door, incongruous with the surroundings- and he turned the handle to it. "Come in here," he said- but Jimmy was gone- and Thomas was alone in the empty, dark theatre-

* * *

Thomas woke up- _half _woke up, confused at the light in the room- he had only been asleep for _moments_, how could it be morning? -But then he realized that Jimmy was not in the bed next to him, and that, somehow, the night had passed. He could hear Jimmy moving around somewhere across the room, and he managed a greeting: "G'morning."

"Morning," Jimmy said, and Thomas could feel that Jimmy was anticipating something- what, Thomas didn't know, but he felt it must have to do with Jimmy's 'surprise' secret that he'd been keeping. "What time is it?" He asked Jimmy, feeling utterly exhausted. The medium had put him through his paces the night before, and Thomas's head throbbed from the strain- and his body ached from other, non-medium-related activites that were more pleasant to recall.

"Eleven," Jimmy said, and Thomas tried to pay attention to him, but he found that he was falling back towards the realm of dreams. "You have another hour to sleep, and you need it. Just rest. I'm goin' out to get the paper, and then I'll pack our things."

"No," Thomas said, firmly. "Don't pack for me, you're terrible at it," and he rolled over, bringing his face to his hands, so as to block out the annoying light.

_I love you,_ he thought, unsure if Jimmy could hear him, but too tired to any longer speak aloud._ Don't forget to wake me up-_

"I love you too, Thomas," Jimmy said. "I'll be right back."

Thomas was asleep again before Jimmy had closed the door behind himself, and his dreams returned, stronger even than reality-

* * *

-It was a grander theatre than any Thomas had ever seen, with artful balconies and huge draperies- and as he made his way curiously through the aisles, the projector flickered into life.

Somewhere a phantom band struck up, filling the space with music, and some absent audience spoke quietly amongst themselves- and Thomas looked around, bewildered, for the place was certainly without people.

Suddenly Thomas felt compelled to _sit_- and, though he attempted to get out of it, he found himself in a chair, his hands frozen to the armrests, his eyes stuck on the screen- and no matter how he tried, he could not get away.

On the screen an image of a room flickered, and Thomas gave it his full attention, experiencing the pull of recognition. The room was filled with men at cards, and the shots switched between each player, showing one after another- a very old man, a gentleman in white tie, a man in rumpled shirtsleeves- people with no common thread of age or postion in society or economic status between them. The only similarity was how they all bowed over the cards: with utter seriousness. And then- suddenly- the shot rested on _Jimmy's_ face, and Thomas straightened up in his seat. "_Jimmy_!" Thomas called out, making the invisible audience that sat around him whipser all at once for him to _shush_- but of course it was only a _picture_, and Jimmy couldn't hear him, and continued, on the screen, to stare down at his own cards, his face twisted into intense concentration. After the shot of Jimmy, a title card came up on the screen:

'_Our protagonist_.'

Jimmy's face came back- impossibly, intensely beautiful, even in black and white- and Thomas studied his face as Jimmy played poker. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and his _tell_- the way he would rub the back of his neck with one hand- was in full evidence- but it was most likely for show- Jimmy never really gave into his tells when at cards. Only the rest of the time.

The picture was so detailed, so _accurate_, that Thomas could even make out the dark slash of a cut across Jimmy's palm. _From last night_, Thomas thought, and shivered. The dealer was calling something out, and then the screen flashed to a man at the far end of the table. This man was perhaps fifty- he was one of those sorts that it was hard to tell with- but the camera lingered on him for so long that Thomas studied him in detail. He was a thin man, with a long, corded neck, and a fragile-looking head placed atop. He had very little hair, but what he did have was slicked back, and he wore wire-rimmed spectacles. The cut of his suit was perhaps the finest Thomas had ever seen- nicer, by _far_, even than Lord Grantham's suits. There was something about him so ugly that it bordered on the exquisite; he was unattractive and unapologetic about it, lending him a dignity that came from more than just his perfectly-tailored clothes. The spectacles that he wore hid his eyes, making it look as though a fog had settled around his face. His hands as they touched the cards were deft, and even through the screen Thomas would have bet he was a clever man.

Another title card appeared on the screen, still backed by the same jaunty music:

'_Monsieur Prideaux is famed for his skill with cards. But what he does not know is that young Jimmy Kent has a special trick up his sleeve.'_

The screen cut back to Jimmy, who had clearly won a round- or several. The pile of money next to him had grown exponentially, and Jimmy smiled, and asked the man to his left for a cigarette. He lit it, and Thomas watched it slowly burn away while Jimmy chatted with the other people at the table, his conversation mute, but his intent clear. Finally the next round began, and Thomas saw that two of the seats had already been vacated, presumably by some unfortunates who'd dropped out of the game. On screen, Jimmy's face came back, his eyes narrowed in concentration, and he glanced around himself, at the other players, before it cut away to a title card:

'_ "That Prideaux is the one I have to watch out for, he's got the touch. But I know Salls has nothing this round." '_

Thomas blinked rapidly, noticing that the jaunty tune of the band had been replaced by something softer and lower. More ominous, maybe. _He's not just reading the backs of their cards, he's listening in on their thoughts_, Thomas mused. He had not known that Jimmy's abilities had become so... _evolved_.

The table was a show _of_ tells, both real and faked: fingers tapped, cigarettes were smoked, people scratched and shifted around and touched their own faces, and Thomas could see that many of them coughed by the way they covered their mouths or the way their shoulders shook. The round ended, and another person stepped away from the table. The camera hung for several seconds on the intricate murals that covered the walls of the room- ballerinas twirling prettily onstage, making Thomas think of nothing so much as Madame Nicodème, suspended by wires, dancing across the air with her chauffeur.

Monsieur Prideaux's singular visage was shown once more, close up, and behind his glasses Thomas got the distinct impression that something was _wrong _with his eyes. Prideaux inclined his head, looking at the hand he'd been dealt, and Thomas could see that the pupil of one eye was oddly shaped, as though it had been dragged roughly downwards and never returned to its original circular form.

The scene cut to black, and words were put up on the screen. The bands ominous tempo became more noticable to Thomas, and the invisible- but _present_- crowd of theatregoers around him whispered to one another exicitedly, making Thomas dwell on the fact that he was alone in a room full of ghosts- but he put it aside, shaking his head, and read the screen:

_' The Final Round. We are down to Jimmy Kent and Monsieur Prideaux.'_

The shot switched to Jimmy, looking as nervous as Thomas had ever seen him, putting money on the table.

_' That's all I have, and I can't read him! I can't hear him and I can't see his cards! Sly bastard! Oh, I hope I have a better hand-' _the next card read, ostensibly from Jimmy's point of view. Across the table the grim-faced dealer was talking, and then Prideaux was shown laying out money on his side. Title cards began to appear on the screen with dizzying rapidity, so that Thomas struggled to keep up with them, each one interspersed with a tense, quick shot of Jimmy or the other man-

_' The two men have placed their bets, and now the fate of Jimmy Kent lies in the hands of the fickle goddess, Luck.'_

A shot of Jimmy's face, then Prideaux's, each with their mouths drawn into a grim line.

_' Mr. Kent bets everything, and lays down his hand.'_

Jimmy's fingers trembling as he flipped his cards over, to reveal a hand with four Jacks peering blithely up into the air.

_'Now Monsieur Prideaux shows his cards.'_

Prideaux flipped his cards over, his expression fixed, and Thomas took a breath-

But the camera showed a full house, and Thomas, mired in lovely relief, hollered his triumph at the screen. "You've done it, Jimmy!" Thomas yelled- and from the row behind him, a voice whispered "_Shh_!" in his ear- but when Thomas turned around, every seat was empty.

The band's music changed, it became uplifting, triumphant- and Jimmy's ecstatic expression filled the screen, making Thomas's chest grow tight.

_' Young Jimmy claims victory over the expert cardsman, winning a fortune in the process, and strikes out back to Hamish House to relay the news to his love,' _the title card read- but then it cut to Jimmy standing in a dingy watercloset, his eyes so bright that they seemed to leap off of the screen, his limbs shaking, as he wadded up stacks and stacks of money. So much did his fingers tremble that Jimmy kept knocking the money off of the sink and onto the floor, and then scrambling to pick it up, giving Thomas the brief impression that he was watching a vaudeville comedy.

Jimmy seemed to gather his wits, and deftly layered money into his overcoat, the pockets of his suit, and even his socks- stacks of bills upon bills- until Thomas began to truly wonder just how _much_ money Jimmy had won. The screen showed Jimmy in profile as he finished his task, and he stared into his own reflection his the mirror. Jimmy splashed water on his face, and smoothed his hair, before straightening up and opening the door.

A sour note undercut the happy tones of the music, and Thomas heard it, winding dissidently through the melody, and began, at last, to feel afraid.

The screen showed Jimmy leaving the bar- a shot of him as he walked from a back entrance, through the room, and out of the frame. Jimmy's steps were light, his lips pursed as if he were whistling, and then- the music became truly _dark _in tone- and Thomas saw, behind him, Prideaux exit from the same door, and walk over to a table of men at the far right of the room, bending over gracefully to speak with them. A title card came up on screen:

_' Jimmy strolls into the London night, unaware that Monsieur Prideaux's men have set out after him. '_

Thomas shifted in his seat, leaning forward, unable to ignore in his own mind the sharp edges of fear. "Get out of there, Jimmy," he said, clasping his hands together.

The phantom band was no longer a band but an orchestra- the string section _wept_, and the screen showed Jimmy's upturned face- he looked up at the blank cloudy sky in the drizzling night, his mouth turned up in a sweet smile- a smile that made his face look starkly innocent, and made Thomas all the more afraid for him. A title card narrated Jimmy's thoughts:

_'Even through the darkness and the clouds- I feel as if I can see how bright the stars are!'_

Another shot, of Jimmy walking away, his umbrella under his arm despite the weather, and behind him, the silhouetted shapes of a gang of men, following under cover of darkness and rain.

"Jimmy!" Thomas, said, struggling to rise from the chair- he felt as though it _clutched_ at him, keeping him bound to it- "_Look_! Behind you!"

Title cards broke up the single shot of the men slowly creeping forward- and they began to say nonsense things-

_'Straighten up and fly right and drop your cards and- look! Behind you!'_

Another shot of Jimmy, walking through a stone square with many alleyways like many open mouths-

_'You are very polite! I will now saw the vicar in half! You must be of Strongheart!'_

And in the picture on the projector the light from rain soaked cobblestones made a thousand tiny floods in the cracks underneath Jimmy's feet- and the men were almost upon Jimmy now, who was, somehow, oblivious, though Thomas did not know _how_ because Jimmy was supposed to have the bloody _telepathy,_ for god's sake-

"Please," Thomas moaned. "Jimmy. Look round. _Please. _Run_-"_

Another title card came up, and Thomas's heart skipped a beat, for the first word he noticed on it was his own name- and the print of the words was not neat anymore, but seemed handwritten- and uneven, as though it were sliding off of the screen-

_'-and Thomas,' _it read, _ '-shielded his face with his arms against it- _

_and then the light winked out, _

_like a flame extinguished, _

_and his true love was gone with it- _

_borne up into the _aether_.'_

"_No_," Thomas whispered, in horror, because he _knew_ what that meant- that meant _death-_ and he struggled against the bonds that kept him seated with all his strength, and, screaming with effort, he wrested himself free, and tumbled forward-

-and expected to fall into the chairs in front of him- but Thomas was not in a theatre watching a picture, he was really _there_, and the picture was really _happening_, but still he could not move or speak. He watched the men approach Jimmy, a few paces in front of him, and Thomas tried to shout a warning, but his voice was lost, hopelessly lost.

Jimmy, oblivious, did not realize what was happening until the men were almost upon him- and then, at the very last instant he turned, his eyes widening at the five figures behind him, and he brandished his umbrella, and made to run, but one of them had gotten around behind him, and Jimmy was blocked in. "What?" Jimmy asked, looking around at them, the happiness disappearing from his face.

"Heard you've been cheating at cards," the largest man said, in a conversational tone- but Jimmy seemed to know what was coming, and he hurled himself backwards against one of the men, screaming. "No you bloody _don't_!" Jimmy shouted, wildly- and he fought against the men, not politely but with _everything_ he had, hands clawing at eyes and hair- and two of the men got his arms, and another clamped an enormous hand over Jimmy's mouth.

"He's a lively one," the largest man said, and gestured to one of his comrades. "Gian."

Thomas swiped at the attackers, but his hands were incorporeal, and his voice silent, and he stared into Jimmy's wide, terrified eyes, as Jimmy struggled, shaking, against his captors. Gian stepped forward, with something in his hands- it was a _rapier_, it was a _blade_, it was a cudgel_- _it was a dagger_-_ a scimitar- a hammer_-_ a weapon of incalculable harm-

-and then it was a _knife_- just a knife, and it's blade gleamed in the moonlight- but there _was_ no moonlight, it was raining- and Thomas watched in mute terror as the man came close to Jimmy, close as a lover, and slid the knife into his side- once, and Jimmy's body pulsed in the arms that held him, as though he'd been the victim of an electric shock- and then the knife was pulled out, slick with blood, and disappeared into Jimmy's side, again- and Jimmy slumped forward, into the arms of the men, and they lifted him up-

* * *

_"No!"_ Thomas woke up, sitting straight up in bed. He was not fully awake but his throat was closed in terror, and it was disorientingly dark outside- as if he'd slept the whole day- and then, in his mind, Thomas heard Jimmy's voice, faint and weak and full of pain- and Thomas felt a terrible _pain_ in the right side of his torso-

"_Ah,_ God," Thomas moaned, and clutched one hand to his side, staggering out of bed. In his head he heard Jimmy's voice- but very faint and far away-

_...Thomas... are you there? I'm in a...bit...of trouble...Ah, it hurts-_

"Jimmy, " Thomas said, and almost fell, reaching out to clutch at the table- and he saw that the table was full of _money_, bills scattered all across the top of it, and that judging by the clock on the mantle, it was half eight- had he slept the whole day? And something so _frightening_-

_Thomas...are you... there?_

Jimmy sounded _too_ far away in his thoughts, and Thomas ripped off the leather pouch that he wore around his neck angrily, because it was- making it much harder to _hear_ Jimmy- and it worked- Jimmy's voice got louder, but simultaneously _everyone's_ voices crowded in on Thomas's head, making him grasp his temples, doubling over-

_Thomas can you hear me I'm very afraid I'm in a bit of trouble-_

"Jimmy, I can _hear_ you, yes, where _are_ you?" Thomas asked- he said it aloud and _thought _it at the same time, with as much force as he could muster, pulling on his pyjamas.

_Somewhere... some...where... on Whitechapel... Thomas-_

"I'm coming. I'm coming _now_," Thomas said and thought- and then he noticed, with a slow swooning feeling of horror, that the metronome on the mantle had stopped ticking-

_"_No, no, _no_-" Thomas said, his voice shattered by panic. "Jimmy, Jimmy are you there? Talk to me, Jimmy talk, please-"

_I can't talk it hurts but I can think-_

"Yes," Thomas said, and swept some of the money off the table and into his hand, grabbed his shoes and coat, not bothering to put them on, and looked wildly around the room, grabbing also a white dress shirt before he ran out the door. Thomas threw himself down the stairs barefoot, missing several steps and slamming into the wall on the second landing. "Talk to me, Jimmy_," _he pleaded, and ran into the pub. It was crowded, and the _thoughts _of everyone slammed into Thomas's head in an enormous roar- not an ache, but a _stabbing_ pain, the way Jimmy had been stabbed-

"_Agh," _Thomas said, clutching his head, and took several hasty, unsteady steps over to the girl who worked there- he forced his own hands away from his temples, coming to cltuch at her shoulders. "You need to _telephone the police, _Alice," Thomas said, focusing his mind on hers. "You need to ring them _now_, and have them send an _ambulance_ to _Whitechapel_, because it will be like Benjamin all over again if you don't do it right _now-_"

The girl backed away from Thomas, clearly frightened, but she nodded an affirmative, and Thomas felt that she _would_ do it, and he did not have time to wait for more-

"Talk to me, Jimmy," Thomas said, running out of the pub, and drawing the stares and _thoughts_ of all the patrons along with him as he ran. "I want you to try and put some pressure on the wound. Put your hands against it. Can you get your jacket off?"

Thomas fell into the rain-slick world, and his heart hammered so wildly in his chest that he was afraid for a moment he might black out- and leave Jimmy _dying_, oh god, _dying _somewhere in the night-

"Jimmy, are you there? Answer me, _please-" _Thomas saw a taxi and ran for it, his shoeless feet slipping on the cobblestones, the money he clutched in one hand getting drenched in the rain- and he threw himself against the car's door, grasping at the handle-

_I'm... here but I can't... I can't move... _Jimmy thought- and Thomas forced open the door and slid into the backseat of the taxi. Thomas felt wetness on his face, above his mouth, and wiped at it with trembling fingers, thinking it was rainwater, but his hand came away bright with blood. "Take me to Whitechapel," Thomas barked at the driver, and held his fistful of money up, to quell the driver's doubts.

"Listen," the taxi driver said, looking him up and down incredulously, and not moving the car- "I think you should maybe-"

_"Do_ it, John, right _now_," Thomas said- he knew everything _about_ John, the best of him and the darkest night of his soul- and he bared his teeth, tasting blood in his mouth- "And if you don't make it quick I'm telling Adelaide about your three weeks in Madrid- what you _did _there-"

"What?" the driver asked, his face registering shock, and Thomas leaned forward, screaming into his ear-

_"If_ you can't do it then get _out_ and I will drive the _bloody_ car," Thomas snarled, and the driver pulled away, turning out of Soho square and towards Whitechapel. "Drive as fast as you can," Thomas said, and dropped the entire wad of money onto the seat next to John Julian Howell, who had done something terrible in Spain many years before-

_Thomas... are you coming? I'm trying... but I don't feel very well-_

"No," Thomas said aloud, his hands shaking as he tried to pull on his shoes. "No, _no_, Jimmy, just listen to me- tell me about where you went tonight-"

The driver opened his mouth to speak, as if Thomas were addressing him. "Be _quiet_," Thomas said to the driver. "Don't even _think_-" and then Thomas gasped, bending against his own knees as they drove down a very populated street, and the noise of many voices filled his skull, sending knives of pain into his head-

"_Aghh_," Thomas moaned, feeling blood drip out of his nose and down his face. "Drive _faster_, John, or I'll- I'll tell her about the _bird_, and the _well_- that's from further back, but it's plain to see it still makes you _ashamed-_"

"Alright, I'm _driving_!" The driver's voice had a panicky quality to it, but the car picked up speed.

_It's a place where I won us- oh, god... Thomas... they _stole _our money-_

"But what is it _called_?" Thomas pressed, wiping his face with hands that shook too much to be effective.

_The- ah- the Moon- no, the- the Peale, the Peale that's right the Peale...ah...ah, Thomas it hurts-_

"It's going to be alright, Jimmy, it's going to be _fine,"_ Thomas said, slamming his fist against the window and leaving a smear of blood there. "I'm coming for you _right_ now, d'ya understand? Just stay _awake_-"

_Yes. I'm...Thomas? Are you there?_

"I'm _here, _I'm _here,_" Thomas said. "John. Take me to the Peale."

_I'm a little worried that... Thomas... I want you to know something-_

"No, _no_, we're not doing confessions right now, no, don't you _do_ that, just keep conscious," Thomas said trying to put his coat on. "I'll be right there-"

_I want you to know how dearly I love...I love you... that feeling... it is..the measure of my days...like... a metronome-_

"No, no, I love you too, no, don't _do_ this, Jimmy, just focus on staying awake," Thomas said, hardly aware that he was crying, hardly aware of the awful pain in his head and the dull ache in his side-

_And I'm not... the most eloquent... between us... but Thomas I wanted- I'm sorry but I wanted it so much-_

"Yes," Thomas said, through his tears. "Tell me all about it. Tell me what you wanted. Keep talking."

_I wanted to be happy... this world will ignore... almost anything...if you've got money- but what I wanted to say was- I was... I was happy already- something about you- makes me so... Thomas? Thomas? ...It's pretty bad I don't know if I can- are you there?_

"Yes, I'm _here,_ Jimmy, I'm _here_," Thomas moaned, terrified. "I'm right here and I need you to stay _awake_, stay awake for me if you love me-"

_I... I don't want to... to die but if... if I do I want you to go on... I'll... I'll wait around for you. Oh, the poor Lieutenant... it must be sad, to be a ghost-_

"_Jimmy_," Thomas said, hysterically, "Oh, God, _please_-"

"We're nearly there," The driver said, looking terrified-

_-I... it's hard to think... I... I don't believe... all... all the wonderful things... that have happened... you know?...Thomas? Are you there?_

"We're here," The driver said, pulling up to the curb at a danergous clip- he hit the end of a parked car with a terrible sound- and they stopped at the alleyway that led from the mouth of the street to the dark square that the bar occupied- Thomas _knew_ it, he had seen it in his dreams-

"John-" Thomas said wildly, "-wait _here_ until the ambulance comes and send them down to the Peale. It's a man's _life_ on you if you don't, his bloody _life_-" and Thomas was scrambling out of the car, grasping the dress shirt he had taken with him from the room. Before he he made it off of the sidewalk he heard the taxi pull away, screeching with the effort of going too quickly on the wet street- and his feet took him, faster than he'd ever moved before, down the cobblestone alleyway and into a square, with an industrial building and a dingy little bar attatched-

"Jimmy," Thomas said, his voice so hoarse that it scarcely sounded like a voice at all- "-where _are _you?"

_In...a...an... a-alley- oh it really hurts..._

Thomas spun around in a circle- there must have been a _dozen_ alleyways leading off of the square, all of them long and dark and only one of them with Jimmy in it- "Tell me _where_," Thomas said- and he got no reply- but suddenly he had a flash of memory overwhelm him, and he _was_ Jimmy, his right side in an agony, held upright, his feet being dragged backwards along the ground, and with the last of his strength he managed to upend his pocket, sending his Strongheart cards fluttering in in a blue line to the earth-

_I...I remembered... to drop my... my...cards,_ Jimmy thought, very faintly, and Thomas began to run around the perimeter of the square, his shoes kicking up rivulets of water, his heart pounding so heard that he was certain he would die- he looked at the ground as he ran, searching for a card- a _card_-

And finally he caught a glimpse, at the mouth of one of the alleys, of a _flash_ of vibrant blue- gleaming impossibly in the darkness as though it were made of light- and Thomas ran past it, seeing that it was a little paper card, already ruined by the rain, with a blurry picture fading off of the back of it- and he ran down the stone corridor, following a trail of cards, his feet echoing against the stones and the thoughts of all of London with him- and he found Jimmy, lying slumped against a wall behind some rubbish bins, his hands pressed to his side, covered in dark blood.

"_Jimmy_," Thomas said, gasping, and fell to his knees, his shins bouncing against the stones, and unwrapped the shirt from his own trembling fingers with one hand. The men had taken Jimmy's shoes and his coat, and Thomas pushed up Jimmy's arms, finding no resistance. "Take a breath, Jimmy, take a breath," Thomas said, and pressed his ear to Jimmy's side, listening to hear if his lung had been punctured- but it _hadn't_, thank God- and then he reached his arms under Jimmy's blood-soaked shirt, bringing the sleeves of his own dress shirt up around Jimmy's other side, to tie off a rough tourniquet-

_Are you... you're here... aren't you? _ Jimmy thought, and his eyelids fluttered but did not open all the way. _Oh... d- don't do that... it hurts..._

Thomas laughed, on the verge of hysteria, his throat choking on the sounds it produced, and laid his overcoat around Jimmy's shoulders. "Yes, I'm here, I'm here, and I have to- I have to go, just for a moment- but you have to _hang on_ and I'll be right back, alright?" Thomas hastily kissed the side of Jimmy's head, and then straightened up on legs that shook. "_Right back. _You just keep _thinking _ to me-"

"...No," Jimmy whispered, his voice garbled and almost nonexistent. "Don't-" and Thomas, though it tore his heart out to do it, turned away from Jimmy and ran back down the alley-

_I'm right here with you Jimmy, _Thomas thought, _I'm just running for help- I can't think I have to run- _he ran so quickly across the square that he slipped on the stones outside of the pub, and fell onto the ground, catching himself with the palms of his hands and pulling himself back up-

-and burst through the doors into a room, where a pianist played lazy ditties and all the folks were hardened criminal types- a sour-faced bartender wiped down a counter with rows of dusty liquor bottles reflecting the light behind him-

"Listen!" Thomas yelled, into the bar- and in his mind, Jimmy said-

_It doesn't hurt... so much... anymore-_

And that thought pushed Thomas over the edge into a bottomless abyss of fear, and nobody was _moving_, and so he took ever bit of himself, and of his mind, and his thoughts, and at the top of his lungs, he screamed, into the room and into their heads:

_"LISTEN_

_TO ME,"_

and every bottle behind the bar slid off of its shelf at once and crashed to the floor- but some of the bottles broke in _mid-air_, with nothing visible causing them to shatter, so that the bartender had to shield his face- and everyone else in the pub raised their hands to their ears in pain, trying to block out Thomas's deafening Voice-

Thomas made for the bar, and fixed his gaze upon bartender, who had bits of glass shining in his hair. One shard glinted on the skin of his cheek, resting there, like a tear, and, as Thomas watched, it fell to the ground. The man behind the counter was regarding him with wide, wary eyes, and Thomas reached out, and grabbed the sleeve of his coat.

"Ring up the police," Thomas said. "There's a man dying out there. In the alley. Ring them now, David, or else I'll make sure the _thing _under the stairs gets you." It had been only a snatch of memory from David's childhood- just the smallest thing, here and gone- but the threat seemed to work, because the bartender turned heel and _ran, _and Thomas could feel that he was going for a phone-

So accomplished, Thomas whirled around and stumbled back through the door, out onto the rain-soaked cobblestones, and back into the mouth of the alleyway. "Jimmy?" he called- _Jimmy, oh talk to me please-_ but he got no reply, and at the sight of Jimmy's coat-covered, still body, Thomas moaned in terror, and flung himself over the other man. _Oh my love please don't die you can't die, you _can't_ die, you can't die you can't-_

Jimmy was still breathing- shallowly- and the pallor of his face shone even in the darkness- but he was alive, _alive,_ and Thomas bent over him, running his hands through Jimmy's soaked hair.

"Stay with me," Thomas whispered, kissing Jimmy's face. "Please. Please stay with me."

And very faintly, as if from far away, he heard a symphony of noises- the sound of a _siren_, the sound of people shouting- it was too quick- which meant that the girl at Hamish House had kept her promise to call the police after all- and Thomas raised his voice to a thunderous scream-

_"HERE!" _he shouted into the night- _"Down HERE!"_

And with his last bit of strength he had summoned the terrible tones of the Voice- and then he slumped over Jimmy, trying to keep him warm, until the police appeared and the medics came rushing in with a stretcher, and there were many arms, pulling him away from Jimmy's body- no, not his _body_, from _Jimmy_, because Jimmy was still alive-

Somebody put a blanket around Thomas's shoulders, and he pushed through the arms that held him, taking staggering steps after the stretcher that bore Jimmy away on it.

"Sir, we need to ask you-"

"I have to go with him," Thomas said, at the mouth of the alleyway. The ambulance stood at the ready, back open, and carefully the medics lifted Jimmy in to it-

"You _can't,_ sir, now if you would just-"

Thomas felt around with his mind for the ambulance driver, and when he found him, he reached out into the throng, and grabbed the man's shoulder.

"You have to let me go with you," Thomas said, shakily. "Erik. Please. He's all I have in this world."

"You can't ride with us," the ambulance driver said, but Thomas felt that he was kind, and he put his hands out in a gesture of supplication.

"Please," Thomas said, lowly, as Jimmy disappeared from view, the stretcher that bore him lifted into the auto. He grasped around for something that would sway the man, and said: "I was a medic. In the war."

The driver considered him, bringing one hand to his beard- and then nodded, once. "All right," he said, gruffly. "You can ride in the front with me. But keep quiet."

"Thank you, oh, thank you," Thomas said, sincerely- and for a moment he thought he legs would give out underneath him- but somehow he managed to climb into the car, and once in he clasped his hands, his shoulder shaking, and bowed his head in prayer as the siren wound up and blared with them through the streets-

_Please,_ Thomas thought- he did not know if he prayed to his father, or his mother, or Lady Sybil or Lieutenant Courtenay, or Madame Nicodème- or if he prayed to _God_- but he prayed, over and over again, with everything he had:

_-please, let him live. Please, let him live. I'll give you anything, only please- you must- you must save him-_

and while he prayed he felt the people of London all around him, living their days and their nights and their terrors and joys and defeats. And Thomas wondered how, in a limitless world, with so many lives in it, he could possibly think that there was _anything_ watching out for _him_.


	3. Chapter 3

BOOK THREE: **RESULTS**

* * *

Jimmy dreamed of many things- and he felt that he dreamed for a long time, for much longer than usual. His dreams were dull and thick, as if someone had filled his head with cotton, and he moved slowly through white vapors, looking for something of interest.

_Boring, boring, boring_, Jimmy thought. _Isn't there anything to do?_

"Hey!" Jimmy called out, into the fog. "Where's my _magician_? I want to _practice!_"

"It's the morphine that makes you so thick, darling," Thomas said- he stood beside Jimmy, smoking a cigarette. "Stop _smoking_, you're fogging up the joint," Jimmy said, happy to see him. "Thomas?"

"Yes?" Thomas asked, but now he had a worried look about him- his brow creased, as if in upset, and Jimmy tried to reach out for him- but his hands wouldn't move, and the white space he was in flickered, disappearing into another room.

This room took forever to come into focus, and Jimmy saw that it was a plain place, with sunlight shining into it. Jimmy tried to speak- but he couldn't seem to open his mouth. That was the way it sometimes was, in dreams.

"His eyes are open," a voice said, to Jimmy's left, and then there was a stranger leaning into his range of vision, examining him. "That's very good."

There was a noise somewhere off by Jimmy's feet, and then the stranger moved out of the way- and Thomas was there, looking at him, his face drawn and, and _ill_-seeming, somehow. _What's the matter, Thomas?_ Jimmy thought, because he couldn't speak, and to his surprise a smile cracked across Thomas's haggard face, and Thomas burst into sudden, frightening tears.

"Oh, _Jimmy-"_ Thomas said, and bent over him- and from his left came the voice of the stranger, asking him questions in a voice meant to be soothing- "James? Can you hear me, James?"

_What's wrong?_ Jimmy thought, alarmed, but somehow that room had faded, and he was in another dream-room- this one filled with columns, and thick, dull smoke- the fog of _morphine_, was that what Thomas had said?

"Fog of _liquor,_ more likely," a cool voice said, and Jimmy turned, happily, to see Thomas there, wearing an expression of sardonic amusement.

"I love it when you give me those nasty looks," Jimmy said, laughing, and he caught Thomas by the wrist and pulled him into a close dance.

The dream seemed to go on _forever_. Jimmy wandered from room to room and world to strange new world-and through it all, the fog, sometimes wrapping around his throat and sometimes no higher than his ankles.

At some point in his aimless wanderings he came back to the plain room he had been in before, and heard voices speaking.

"You probably saved his life with that tourniquet, Mr. Barrow. What good luck that you had medical training."

"Better luck," Thomas said, his voice tired and lost sounding, "would have been him not getting stabbed in the first place. Ah- did you see that? I think he's waking up-" But Jimmy was transported off to another place, a palace of gold, a house in the mist-cloaked countryside- where he and Thomas were miles away from everything.

"I told you this was home," Thomas said, and pressed a kiss to Jimmy's face. "I told you all along."

"I _know_, but I had to _make_ it be this way," Jimmy said, and Thomas smiled.

"Clever," Thomas told Jimmy, and kissed him again. "-to find us a home in the world. It's no small feat."

"I know, this is what I've been _telling _ you," Jimmy said, though he wasn't entirely certain what it was that they were discussing. "You have to be of strong heart to do something like that."

Another time Jimmy was given a clear view of the mysterious room- and he saw, looking down the length of his own body, that he was in a cot, with his legs tucked into a blanket. At the end of his bed Thomas was sleeping in a chair, his body contorted into a strange position, one arm tucked under his head... but it was too much work to maintain awareness, and Jimmy slipped into other, more comfortable dreams.

* * *

When Jimmy finally woke up, the first thing he had an awareness of was the overwhelming throbbing of his right side. So monotonous was the discomfort that Jimmy couldn't _think_ about anything else- and it frightened him that he couldn't bring himself to move around- as though a portion of his body had become, suddenly, a stranger. He opened his mouth to speak- but no sound came out- and he overheard a conversation-

"I'm not coming back until he's released. If they want to fire me for that, you may consider this my notice."

"No one has said anything about _firing_, Thomas, there's no need to-"

"Hch," Jimmy coughed, weakly. The inside of his mouth tasted _awful_. Thomas was instantly in front of him, his eyes wide, and Jimmy tried to smile at him. "Give me water," Jimmy whispered, his voice coming out as a croak, and Thomas blinked a few stuttering times, and then leaned away, coming back with a glass. "Here," Thomas said, and put the glass to his lips- but Jimmy knew he could at least move his _left_ arm- and brought his hand up to steady the glass as well. "Agh," Jimmy said, coughing on the water- because somehow even moving the _other_ side of his body made his muscles pull.

Thomas put the glass aside, and, without preamble, put his hands to Jimmy's shoulder's, holding Jimmy as close as he could without touching his torso. "God, Jimmy," Thomas said, and Jimmy, from so close to him, could see tears in Thomas's eyes. "I thought y'weren't ever going to wake up," Thomas mumbled, putting his fingers through Jimmy's hair. His right hand found Jimmy's left hand, and squeezed it firmly.

"Oh," Jimmy said, struggling to remember what exactly had brought him to the hospital- and then his stomach bottomed out, and he stared into Thomas's eyes miserably. "I lost all our money, Thomas," Jimmy said, mustering up the strength to speak clearly. "They _stole_ it."

"_Oh_, Jimmy," Thomas said, tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes, "-I don't care, I'm so glad you're alive-" Thomas pressed their foreheads together, and Jimmy gingerly turned his neck, so that they might fit against one another better in their embrace-

-and he caught sight of Mrs. Hughes standing to the left of the bed, half-turned away, as if to give them their privacy. "Hello," Jimmy said, hoarsely, and wondered if he shouldn't feel embarrassment, but he was too weak to summon any up.

Mrs. Hughes turned around, as if she had only just walked in, and Thomas leaned back, but he kept a tight grasp on Jimmy's hand.

_Can you hear me?_ Jimmy thought, but if Thomas replied, Jimmy could not sense it.

"Well, James," Mrs. Hughes said, and gave him the gentlest smile Jimmy had ever seen from her. "It's very nice to have you back with us."

"It's nice to be back," Jimmy said, his voice a whisper. "I didn't know that I had gone."

At that Thomas made a choked noise, as though he were going to break into sobs, but he recovered himself, squeezing Jimmy's hand again.

"Mm," Jimmy said, the pain of his injury setting his teeth on edge, and Thomas looked him over carefully. "More morphine?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy nodded, tersely. "I'll get the nurse," Thomas said, and got up, immediately. Jimmy smiled weakly at Mrs. Hughes. "You must've been pretty worried about him, to come all the way out here," Jimmy said.

Mrs. Hughes nodded, taking a seat next to the cot, her face old and careworn and very sweet. "Aye, that I was. I was very worried about you, as well."

"I'm glad you love him," Jimmy said, so quietly that he was for all practical purposes speaking only to himself. "I love him, too." Then he closed his eyes, escaping the pain of his body, and he barely woke at the sting of a needle in his arm.

In the night he came wide awake, and tapped his left leg against the chair at the foot of his bed where Thomas slept- his right foot was a stranger on the hostile, pain-soaked country of the _other_ side of his body, and couldn't be trusted- and Thomas flew awake, fear flickering for an instant on his face before he looked at Jimmy.

"What is it?" Thomas asked, coming over to him. "Do you need water?"

"God, yes," Jimmy muttered. "Give me water."

Thomas brought a glass to his lips with one hand, and with the other he touched Jimmy's hair, and his neck, and his left shoulder, as though making sure Jimmy were real.

"It's gone," Jimmy said, when Thomas took the cup away from his lips. "I'll get you more," Thomas said, and Jimmy shook his head. "Not that. I can't _hear_ you anymore, Thomas."

Thomas paused, looking at him- and then nodded in agreement. "I know. They've gone. The voices, I mean."

"So- so it _was_ all for a purpose-" Jimmy said, pondering that. "If you hadn't been able to _hear_ me, I would've died in that alleyway."

But Thomas, clasping his hand, pressed his lips together, and shook his head _no_.

"Why _no_?" Jimmy asked, trying to push himself further up on the pillows and discovering that it was a terrible idea. "-_ah_," he said, and Thomas leaned over him. "Careful with yourself." Gently he moved Jimmy's pillows for him. "Why d'ya say that, though?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas shrugged his shoulders. "It's a paradox. Does it feel alright if you sit like that?"

"A paradox _how_?" Jimmy asked, confused.

"Because," Thomas said, "if you hadn't've learned that _trick_, with cards- you would've had no _reason_ to go to that place-"

"Oh," Jimmy said, as he got the point. "And if I'd never gone to the place- then you wouldn't have _needed_ the telepathy to find me."

Thomas nodded. "Are you hungry?" he asked, a touch anxious, but Jimmy's stomach was twisting miserably with disappointment. "So there was no meaning to it, then," Jimmy said, feeling let down. "No _point_. No divine plan."

"I don't know," Thomas said.

"Or maybe I was supposed to use it better," Jimmy said, unhappily. "That seems like a distinct possibility." From his new vantage point, Jimmy could see the table- and on it, a rumpled stack of cards, quite ruined. "Are those my Strongheart cards?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas nodded.

"I went and got them while you were asleep," Thomas said, looking at his own hands. "I thought maybe..."

_You're different now, though,_ Jimmy thought, and he felt happiness for it, and relief in the simple fact of his and Thomas's continued existence. "I know I've told you before," Jimmy said, tiredly- "but sometimes I feel that we're so lucky, just to be alive."

"I think so too," Thomas said, and took his hand, so that they were connected.

* * *

Jimmy woke up many hours later to the sensation of a needle in his arm, and peered up at a nurse- a large woman with an unpleasant face and grey hair. "G'morning, dearie," the nurse said, and smiled- and her smile transformed her face into a thing of loveliness, changing Jimmy's opinion of her.

"Morning," Jimmy said, giving her a smile, and attempted to sit up, groaning at the pain.

"Be careful, now," she chastised him, as if he were a small child.

"Where's Thomas?" Jimmy asked, when he didn't see the other man immediately.

"Mr. Barrow?" The nurse asked, her features turning upwards again, into an affectionate expression. "I think he went down to bring your visitors in."

"I have _visitors_?" Jimmy asked, incredulously, and the nurse laughed heartily. "Why o_'course _you do," she said, fixing his bedsheet with expertise. "A whole bunch of 'em. And o'course your cousin hasn't left your side. You're lucky to have 'im."

"My... cousin? Oh, _Thomas_," Jimmy said, realizing that he was about to expose some ruse of Thomas's. "Yes," Jimmy agreed, to cover his mistake. "He really is the best cousin a person could ask for. I suppose he told you we're all each other has in the world?"

"Oh, what a sad story," The nurse agreed, looking misty. "It's lucky that you two managed to survive the war."

"Very lucky," Jimmy agreed, savoring the thought of Thomas's chosen escape route from that particular conflict.

"And he's so helpful," the nurse went on- that was fine, as far as Jimmy was concerned, she could sing the praises of Thomas Barrow until the sun set and rose again- "the other girls would be awful cross with me for sayin' it, but he _does_ just about everything for you that we can."

"He's very well trained," Jimmy said, terrified that he would laugh and create enormous pain for himself. The morphine they kept giving him took the pain mostly away, but it made him feel stupid and surreal.

The door opened, and Jimmy blinked at the odd assemblage: Thomas came in first, his face brightening when he saw that Jimmy was awake, and then Anna and Bates, followed by O'Brien- and last, towering over the rest, came Alfred. Jimmy smiled when he saw Alfred. O'Brien was certainly only there for Thomas- and Bates was only there _with_ Anna, who was there for Thomas- probably wanting to make sure he hadn't suffered some kind of nervous collapse- but Alfred had definitely come for _him_.

"Hello," Jimmy said, giving everyone his cheeriest smile, and Alfred came round them all, to lean over the bed, with Thomas. "How are you, mate?" Alfred asked, worriedly.

"Never better," Jimmy said, cheekily, and reached his left hand out to firmly shake with Alfred.

"James," Bates said, and O'Brien nodded, but Anna touched him, very carefully, on his uninjured shoulder. "I'm quite glad you're alright, Jimmy," she said, nicely.

"But how is the house still running, with everyone important here?" Jimmy asked, and almost laughed at his own joke- but caught himself at the last minute, remembering his injury.

"You do look much recovered," Thomas said to him, quietly- and Jimmy was happy to find that Thomas looked better, too. And that he clasped Jimmy's wrist for a moment, not caring who saw.

The nurse had someone bring in extra chairs, and they all sat around the cot while Jimmy ate his lunch. "God, I'm so hungry," Jimmy said, eating as quickly as he could without discomfort.

"Decent food they have in this place," Alfred said, looking his tray over appraisingly.

"I'd eat anything right now," Jimmy answered. Bates told him all about Lord Grantham's concern and his insistence that Jimmy come home to recover, and not worry about working again until he was well. _Right, but I doubt he'll pay me,_ Jimmy thought, and recalled, remorsefully, the fortune that had slipped through his fingers. _I wonder if I can still do my cards,_ Jimmy thought. _Perhaps I can try again._ But Jimmy had an unpleasant feeling that his trick was lost, as his ability to hear Thomas had been lost- and that he would not be able to gain it back.

Everyone broke up into laughter at a story Bates had been relating- well, everybody except O'Brien- and Jimmy looked at them, one after the other, and thought it quite miraculous that they were all here together. "Did Thomas tell you we saw Madame Nicodème?" Jimmy asked the group. "You didn't," Alfred said- and Jimmy thought that Thomas was going to say something about the Essex CCC- but instead Thomas nodded. "We saw her at the club."

"You think she might've _warned _a person," O'Brien said, dryly.

"I don't think she can see the future," Jimmy mused, drawing various levels of incredulity from everyone around him- though Anna and Alfred seemed in agreement with him about the medium's latent gifts- and Thomas snorted.

"Perhaps she can't see the future because it isn't _fixed_," Bates said, putting his hand to his chin- and everyone looked round at him in surprise- but he seemed perfectly serious.

"I never thought I'd hear that from you, of all people," O'Brien said, although whether she approved or disapproved it was impossible to tell.

"I never thought I'd say it," Bates replied.

Thomas disappeared with O'Brien outside, on the excuse of cigarettes, and Jimmy chatted pleasantly enough, but after a bit he began to feel tired, and slumped lower down on the pillows.

"You're tired and we're going to go," Alfred told him, and Jimmy said his goodbyes, and smiled when Thomas returned. "Your friends came to visit you," Jimmy teased him, when Thomas sat down by the bed. "It was touching, really."

Thomas gave him a _look_- but then he kissed Jimmy's cheek, only bending away when the nurse came in.

"So tell me, Cousin Tommy," Jimmy said, giving him a benign expression, "What gossip hails from Downton?"

Thomas rolled his eyes behind the nurse's back, but to her face he smiled pleasantly. "Good evening, Laura," Thomas said, and Jimmy smiled at the nurse as well- the day nurse was funny but the night nurse was lovely, and she knew Thomas's credentials, and let Thomas give Jimmy his injection, which Jimmy found he vastly preferred to having anyone else do it.

Thomas had gotten their suitcases from the hotel, and he'd placed Jimmy's metronome on the table. In the morning they played cards, and Thomas told him the finer points of everything that had happened.

"The police can't find Prideaux," Thomas said, and Jimmy stared at him blankly, not knowing what he meant. "What?"

"The man you won all the money off of," Thomas said, laying down his cards. "Twenty-one. I win."

Jimmy blinked at the cards furiously. "I miss my trick," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably- he had felt the knife hit bone when it'd gone into him, both on the first strike and the second- and now the wounds pulled if he moved, almost constantly, making him always uncomfortable.

"No- but the man I beat-" Jimmy said. "His name was _Eames_. Eames. I remember it."

"I thought you couldn't read him," Thomas said. "At the time."

"Well, I couldn't, but the name he _gave _was Eames," Jimmy grumbled. "I don't know, what makes you think your _portentous_ _dream_ holds up over my reality?"

"It wasn't portentous," Thomas said, and Jimmy shuffled the cards one-handed. "It was _happening_ right then- in the present."

He looked gravely serious about it, and Jimmy set down his cards, to touch the line of Thomas's cheek. "But I lived, didn't I?" Jimmy asked. "And everything is going to be quite alright."

Thomas actually allowed himself a small smile, and he leaned into the touch, for a moment. "I don't know," Thomas said. "I don't know."

After the nurses changed his bandages, when Thomas was helping Jimmy back into his shirt, and they were alone, a thought struck him. "Thomas," he said, darkly. "Thomas."

Thomas paused, and looked him over. "Yes, what?"

"How long," Jimmy asked, "D'ya think it'll be before we can..."

"Can...?"

"Can have _relations_," Jimmy finished, in a rough whisper, and Thomas looked grim.

"A _while_," he said, and Jimmy groaned.

* * *

Eventually Jimmy could stagger around, despite his wound, for brief periods- especially if he was leaning on Thomas for support. Still he had to leave the hospital in a wheelchair. "I'm so glad to be going home," Jimmy said, as Thomas pushed him out into the brisk November sunlight- and then he was surprised at himself for having said it, and even more surprised when he found that it was true.

Jimmy was slightly taken aback when the driver of the car was revealed to be Bates- and he and Thomas shared a look at the oddness of it, as Thomas helped him into the back seat..

"I feel rather grand, having you as a chauffeur, Mr. Bates," Jimmy said, laying down- Thomas took the passenger's side, next to Bates, fo that Jimmy could stretch out.

"The family does take care of their own," Bates said, "but I volunteered to drive. Nice to take a drive once in a while."

Jimmy wondered if he would be forever crippled, like Bates- the doctor had assured him that would not be the case- but still he worried about it, absently, and he rearranged himself carefully, so that his side wasn't jostled when they went across rough patches of road.

"Lovely day," Jimmy said, when London fell away from them and he could see the blue sky. From the front seat Thomas reached back to clutch his hand for a moment, which surprised Jimmy- Thomas seemed to have developed some kind of new attitude towards subtlety. Jimmy hissed when they hit a rough patch of road- but eventually he closed his eyes and rested, only half-alseep.

"I want you to know," Jimmy heard Bates say to Thomas, after there had been long minutes of silence between them- "That I've thought a long time about what you said- the year Anna and I moved into our cottage."

"I'm not sure what you mean," Thomas said, uncomfortably, and Jimmy woke himself up a little, but preserved the illusion of sleep, so that he could listen in.

"When you said," Bates continued, "that Anna and I were lucky. I had always rather considered myself an unlucky man- with the only exception to that streak of bad luck being the woman who- rather inexplicably- chose to love me."

It was a lot for Bates to say at once, and Jimmy wondered if this subject hadn't weighed upon him for some time.

Thomas did not reply, and Bates went on. "But now I see that, as they say, there is always someone who's a bit worse off."

"You mean you think my luck's bad?" Thomas asked, after a pause.

"Well, not _always_," Bates allowed. "Consider as we sit here that you _are_ my superior at Downton. I wonder however you managed that- a keeper of the keys is one of the very ones who used to nick the bottles."

Thomas laughed, sounding, to Jimmy's ear, surprised. "I managed it with your help, of course, Mr. Bates," he returned smoothly. "And I thank you ever so much."

Bates did not laugh, and when he spoke his tone was very firm. "I want you to know that you'll _always_ have my help, Thomas. If you encounter any difficulties."

There was another long stretch of silence, and Jimmy had almost fallen asleep again when he heard Thomas reply, in the sincerest tone which he was capable of:

"I don't deserve that from you," Thomas said, quietly. "You have to remember the things I did to you."

"We all do terrible things sometimes," Bates said, and after that the silence fell again, but it had a curiously companionable quality to it.

* * *

Jimmy was helped into the servants hall, and everyone crowded around him, shouting greetings and asking how he was, until Jimmy had to help himself into a chair- well, _Thomas_ helped him, really- and he sat carefully, fielding questions.

"No-" Jimmy said, "they haven't caught him. I don't even know his real name- no, just when I _breathe_ or anything- well-" Mrs. Patmore was laying a beautiful spread of biscuits in front of him when Carson appeared in the door, and Jimmy sat up straighter, and Thomas snapped to attention beside him.

"Thomas," Carson said, standing in the entranceway. "James- we're glad to have you back."

"It's nice to be back, sir," Jimmy said. "But I think I best go up to my room."

"I understand you must be very tired, James, but if you and Thomas could have one word with me in my office before you go rest, I would appreciate it," Carson said, with stiff dignity, and Jimmy's heart dropped. _Shite, _he thought_, that can't be good. Perhaps he's figured us out- or else found out that I hit the Duke-_

Thomas helped him up, and when he looked in Thomas's eyes he saw that Thomas was worried as well, but they walked slowly over to Carson's door- and followed him in. Jimmy felt like nothing so much as an errant child, waiting to be scolded, and he sat down gingerly, his body protesting the amount of movement it was being made to tolerate.

"Well," Carson said, shutting the door and crossing over to sit as his desk. "Perhaps by now you've heard."

"Heard-" Jimmy said-

"Heard _what_?" Thomas asked, at the same moment.

"What happened to his room," Carson said, gesturing at Jimmy.

"What happened to my _room_?" Jimmy asked, bewildered.

"Your windows were broken in the _storm_," Carson said, looking, for some reason, sublimely uncomfortable. "And there was the matter of some flooding- a _pipe _burst, they think-"

"They _think_?" Thomas asked, incredulously, and Carson gave him a dangerous look, prompting Thomas to go silent.

"And," Carson said, taking a deep breath, as though he were in pain- "-there were some... _disturbances._ We moved your bed into Alfred's room, James- but- ah, the- _disturbances_- continued- and- that is to say- it looks as if you'll have to room with Mr. Barrow for the time being," Carson pronounced, rather rapidly. "I am sorry for the inconvenience, Thomas."

"...Disturbances?" Thomas asked, but Jimmy's mouth fell open, and he closed it with a snap.

Carson looked- well, he looked rather _mortified_, actually, and Jimmy rose unsteadily to his feet, grasping the edge of the chair for support. "That's quite fine, I don't really mind at all," he said, lightly, and Carson _harrumphed_. Thomas remained seated, for a moment.

"But, Mr. Carson," Thomas pressed- as if he hadn't just heard the great revelation that Jimmy had heard- "-what kind of-"

"We can discuss it later," Carson said, cutting him off, and crossed the room, opening his door.

"I appreciate your understanding in this matter- trust me, James, when I say that we will have your room back in livable condition as soon as possible. Now get some rest."

"Yes, sir," Jimmy said, trying not to smile. "Thank you, sir."

Jimmy called Alfred away, on the pretext of needing two people to help him up the stairs, and questioned him vigorously. Together in the hallway the three of them peered into Jimmy's former room, where the windows had been blown out, and were now covered in a heavy tarp. Water stains adorned the floor, and the bed, and bureau, and desk, and all of Jimmy's things were gone- Jimmy shivered at what an eerie picture it made, relieved he that he wouldn't have to sleep in there.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me about this when you came to London," Jimmy admonished Alfred, leaning his full weight back against the wall.

"I couldn't, could I?" Alfred said. "We weren't alone- and Mr. Carson swore me an' the hallboys to _secrecy_."

"What happened?" Thomas asked, taking advantage of the spare moment to light a cigarette- but he kept one hand always at Jimmy's elbow, in case he should fall.

"We woke up durin' the awful storm- on the fourth-" Alfred said- "and there was _black water_ coming out from underneath your door. Then it took _forever _to force the door, and when we finally did it the windows were blown and the flood- just- sort've- vanished. But the bed kept sliding around-"

"The _bed_?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas raised an eyebrow disbelievingly. "Black water?" Thomas asked. "Black water that vanished, and a spinning bed?"

Jimmy pinched Thomas with his right hand and regretted it- it sent a twinge of pain all the way down his side. "Yes, just like that," Alfred agreed, ignoring the implications of Thomas's tone.

"So then," Jimmy said, prompting him.

"Oh." Alfred closed the door to Jimmy's old room, looking a bit uneasy. "It was a bit scary, you know. We all thought the _spirits _were coming back."

"So then they put my cot in your room, and it _kept_ moving?" Jimmy asked.

"What?" Alfred asked, confusion evident on his face. "No. Not _my_ room. We put the cot in Mr. Barrow's room. And Mr. Carson was awful upset- like we was doin' something really wrong but he couldn't think of anything else to do." Alfred laughed in amusement at the recollection. "And- he swore all four of us to secrecy, and Petey was all complainin' about having to move it, like, in the middle of the _night_, an' he said to Mr. Carson- '_Why does it matter, he's just gonna sleep in Mr. Barrow's room anyhow'_- sorry for being so plain, Mr. Barrow, but that's what he said- and Mr. Carson gave him the worst tongue-lashing I've ever _heard,_ an' made him do extra work for a week."

Jimmy couldn't help it- one look at Thomas's expression and he burst into laughter, which was immediately cut short by the pain in his side. "I really have to sit down," Jimmy told Thomas. "Alfred, come read me the paper later tomorrow, I'll be so bored."

"I'll try. Seems I'll be a bit busy because my mate got himself stabbed," Alfred answered easily. "Oh, your clock came- we didn't know what to do with it, so it just got put it in your room," Alfred said, and walked down the hall in his ungainly way.

"What clock?" Thomas asked, holding Jimmy with one arm and opening the door with his cigarette in hand.

"_That _clock," Jimmy said, as the door swung open, and they both stared at the grandfather clock, which had been placed against the far wall. The room was transformed: instead of Thomas's desk on the left, the space was divided in half by both his desk and Jimmy's- with a cot on either side of the desk barricade, as if to preserve the illusion of propriety- and their bureaus were next to one another. Jimmy felt exhilirating triumph at the sight of it- and his throat got a bit tight- so he took a fumbling step away from Thomas, and sank into the nearest chair. "You have to move the beds together now," Jimmy told Thomas- but Thomas didn't seem to hear him. He was staring at the clock, motionless, his eyes wide, his cigarette burning away.

"Happy Birthday," Jimmy said, casually. "It isn't really _everything_ I wanted to give you, but-"

"Oh," Thomas said, and stepped towards the clock, reaching out an arm.

"But it's _mahogany_," Jimmy said, "and it's got a long case or something- and the very best part is- it plays 'Ode to Joy' instead of 'Westminster Quarters'- and- Thomas, are you alright?"

Thomas touched the body of the clock, and then opened it, his face white as a sheet, and fumbled around inside, pulling out a label- he held the label in one trembling hand, his eyes intent- and then he put his other hand up to his mouth. "Oh," he said again, into his glove, and Jimmy straightened up, in alarm. 'What's the _matter_?" Jimmy asked, wondering why his gift had gone so far awry.

"My father made this clock," Thomas said, in a choked voice.

"I thought he owned a _repair_ shop or something," Jimmy said.

"I... he did but he made a few dozen for a manufacturer before he got... settled on his own..." Thomas said, and put the label on the desk- Jimmy could see that it said _Barrow_ on it, and his arms broke out in gooseflesh. "Lucky guess on my part, right?" Jimmy asked- though he didn't believe it was _really_ just luck- and Thomas put both his hands to his face, and made a sound like a sob.

"I didn't mean to make you _cry_," Jimmy said, uneasily, when Thomas had stood still for a long moment, his body shaking, and Thomas came over to him abruptly, uncovering his tear streaked face, and knelt before the chair that Jimmy sat in. Jimmy remembered, looking at Thomas's upturned face, the clumsy way that Thomas had tried to play the 'Ode to Joy' melody over and over on the piano- and he felt his chest grow tight, and put his left hand through Thomas's hair.

"So it's good, right?" Jimmy asked, and Thomas took his hand and pressed a kiss to it, his face streaked with tears. "Yes," Thomas said, his voice shaking. "It's very good."

"Yes," Jimmy said, "we'll have a good cry about everything later, but for now could you _please_ move the bloody beds together?"

* * *

Thomas _did_ move the beds together, with Jimmy directing him, but he grumbled a lot about propriety first, Jimmy blocking him at every turn with clever and irrefutable arguments. "Even _Petey _the bloody _hallboy_ knows we sleep together," Jimmy pointed out. "We can get away with _anything_ now, we've practically got Carson's consent by engraved invitation."

Jimmy opened his mail while Thomas re-made the beds with some kind of fanatical perfectionism. "Make sure you make that into _one_ bed, a proper one bed with one sheet and one set of blankets-" Jimmy said. "I _was_," Thomas countered. "Just sit there like a good invalid and be quiet."

"I'm going to be a _terrible_ invalid, I can just tell," Jimmy muttered darkly, picturing weeks and weeks of boredom ahead of him. "Are you going to be a footman while I'm off work?"

"No other choice," Thomas said.

Jimmy got a letter from Madame Nicodème, dated in her hand from Sunday November fifth, and he opened it and read it aloud to Thomas.

" 'My _Dear_ Jimmy," Jimmy read, doing a bad impression of her girlish voice- "I have a _terrible_ feeling that you're going to run into a spot of trouble tonight- and I just wanted to send you a little missive, wishing you the speediest possible recovery. Remember, darling: it's all for a reason. It's _always_ all for a reason. I have a few things of my own going on at the moment- hands in many kettles and all that- but if I have a spare moment I'll come and visit you in the hospital. Give all of my love to Thomas.

Sincerely and Devotedly yours,

Fancy (your friend).'

-Hmm, 'hands in many kettles'," Jimmy said, raising an eyebrow. "That sounds painful. I wonder if she meant fingers in many pies."

"You made that up," Thomas said- referring, Jimmy thought not to the botched idiom, but to the letter in its entirety- and took the paper when Jimmy offered it, scanning the words. "Told you," Jimmy said, when Thomas handed it back.

Thomas helped Jimmy into the bed- the _real_-sized bed, beautiful and wonderful and all theirs- and Jimmy lay in it, tired and in pain, but happy. Thomas was ministering to his grandfather clock, and Jimmy closed his eyes, letting the clock and the metronome set the cadence of his thoughts.

"Thomas," he said, eventually, "I think I know what it was all for."

"What?" Thomas said.

"All of it," Jimmy replied. "The dreams and telepathy and the cards- and me almost dying-"

"Ah?" Thomas said, from behind him.

"It was so we could have a bed," Jimmy said, and he heard Thomas make a disbelieving sound.

"You almost died_._ Jimmy- you almost _died-_ so that we could stretch out at night," Thomas said, sarcasm dripping off of his words. "Seems a bit counterproductive. It'll be months before you can sleep comfortably, bed or no bed."

"I don't just mean the _bed_," Jimmy said, smiling, because Thomas had come to stand over him. "But the bed and the clock- and feeling as I do now- that I really _know _you- like I've never known anybody else- and that _you _know _me _in the same way, and that you _love _me for it- and more things. Acceptance, maybe. Something _important-_ like that- and everybody letting us live our _life_, even if it isn't quite normal- and a happy medium."

"What a magnificent thought," Thomas said, rolling his eyes. "And all you had to do was get stabbed."

"Twice," Jimmy said, looking up at Thomas, and he tipped him a jaunty wink, so that Thomas bent over, to kiss his face. _It was worth it,_ Jimmy thought, pressing his lips to Thomas's, as many times as he could, before Thomas straightened up again. "Rest now," Thomas said.

"Oh, thank you for that," Jimmy retorted. "Without you around to mind me, I might've forgotten about sleep entirely."

"I would not be surprised," Thomas said.

* * *

**AFTERWARDS**, Jimmy could almost not believe that everything had happened: the cards- the dreams- the telepathy- the night when he and Thomas had loved eachother with the ability to _feel_ what the other's body was feeling- his triumphant victory in the Peale- his crushing defeat at the hands of the muggers- and his realization, after they had returned to Downton, that perhaps he had won more complex and deeper battles than he had at first comprehended.

The police never did catch Eames- or Prideaux, or whatever his name was- and they caught none of the muggers, either- though Jimmy was quite certain that at least a few of the faces he had seen in the rain soaked alley would still, on any night, be visible sitting in the smoky front room of the Peale.

It was _difficult_ for Jimmy to believe in everything that had happened, but it was not _impossible_. His wound ached every day, and it was long slow weeks before he could go back to work. Jimmy spent days hobbling into the kitchens and begging Ivy and Daisy for food, or a bit of gossip- or he would sit at the butcher's block, or at the table in the servants hall, doing menial tasks for whomever he could find to ask. And word-cross. A _lot_ of word cross. And cards that gave him no more answers than they gave anyone else.

The lack of work wasn't in itself unbearable to Jimmy- he knew himself well enough to know that he _did _enjoy slacking off- but the lack of _mobility_, of easy pain-free movement, bothered him tremendously. He lost weight, his musculature becoming unfortunately undefined through lack of exercise- and he awaited eagerly the day when he could do _anything_- go for a run or serve a dinner- anything at all. He began to feel distinctly sympathetic towards Bates and the whole plight-of-a-cripple thing.

But slowly things got better. Thomas was really very clever about them having _relations_ while they couldn't exactly have _relations_. Jimmy recalled one evening when Thomas had held him to the bed, pinning down his right side only, and _licked _him to delirious completion- a scandalous process that had seemed to take forever, and made Jimmy's muscles clench so that he was having awful pains twist through his side all the next day- and still he felt himself smiling involuntarily whenever he _saw_ Thomas- stupid, stubborn, brilliant, wonderful, awful man that he was- enter a room. Just to know what Thomas did to him. Well, _had _done, and would do again.

Finally Doctor Clarkson gave Jimmy the tenuous go-ahead to return to work- if he only worked half days for a while, and absolutely _no_ heavy lifting- and Jimmy persuaded Carson and Thomas to agree. "I suppose we can try for Christmas, and see if you manage the half-day," Carson had said, after a ponderous moment, but Thomas had said: "James. Are you _sure_?" And fixed him with a searching look, to which Jimmy nodded. _God please, yes, give me something to do_, Jimmy thought. "Yes, Thomas. Mr. Barrow. Positive."

When he first reappeared upstairs, that particularly snowy Christmas, Jimmy was greeted ostentatiously by the family, who asked after his health until he was thoroughly uncomfortable- and they all wished him a Happy Christmas, besides. In the middle of serving Jimmy had a pain, but he covered it neatly, scarcely missing a beat in his step- however, when he looked across the room, Thomas was staring at him sharply.

Everyone got their gifts, and then, their duties complete, the downstairs had its own Christmas party. Jimmy and Thomas changed upstairs, in their room- Thomas shrugging off his jacket, Jimmy carefully dressing himself in the blue suit he had gotten in London, the day that he had briefly been a rich man.

"It's strange," Jimmy said, watching appreciatively as Thomas took off his clothing. "I had gotten used to seeing you in footman's livery. It quite suited you."

"You've mentioned," Thomas said. The cut on his lip was gone, and it had left a little scar- much fainter than the first- in a perfect line that Jimmy couldn't quite bring himself to regret.

Thomas's bare chest was visible, and Jimmy studied the charm he wore, bringing his hands up to touch the little leather pouch on the end of it. "If you're totally cured of telepathy-"

Thomas rolled his eyes. "Which I am. I told you it went away."

"Yes, of course, just like my trick," Jimmy said. _You liar, _he added, internally, watching, as he had for many weeks, for some sign that Thomas could hear him. "So why d'ya still wear this thing, then, hmm? And never take it off?"

"Why do you keep those ruined cards?" Thomas asked, gesturing to the Strongheart cards on Jimmy's untidy desk, which stood against the wall next to Thomas's perfectly empty one.

"Because I- I just feel as if-" Jimmy sighed in annoyance. "Your arguments might be clever, but they don't mean _anything _if you're _lying_."

Thomas laughed. "Jimmy Kent, philosopher-at-large."

"That's right," Jimmy said, and took one last look at his suit in the mirror.

"That suit is _far_ too nice to wear," Thomas said, but he put his arms round Jimmy carefully, and kissed him.

"Yes, well," Jimmy said, and kissed Thomas in return, his arms coming up to hold Thomas's shoulders- "I was rich when I bought this suit, but I'm rather poor now. I hope you'll still have me."

"I'll have you," Thomas said, but his meaning didn't exactly follow the thread of the conversation.

"Good," Jimmy said. "Don't forget we're doing that _thing_ tonight. You know what I mean, don't make me say it. Sodomy."

"There's no need to yell about sodomy," Thomas replied, in an undertone, his arms clasped about Jimmy's waist, and Jimmy laughed, the pulling of his muscles only bringing a twinge. "It's been too long, you know," Jimmy said in a low voice, to see if he could make Thomas blush- and Thomas nodded his agreement, only the rise of blood to his cheeks giving voice to his inner thoughts. "Couldn't be helped," he told Jimmy. "If there was a way to help it, I would have done."

_You did quite a bit though, thank you,_ Jimmy thought- trying to see if Thomas _heard_ him- but Thomas only fixed him with a look. "Shall we open our presents now or later?"

Jimmy shoved Thomas, indignantly. "I _told_ you not to get me anything! You _knew_ I couldn't leave the bloody _house_, let alone go to Ripon!"

"My clock is enough of a gift for _ever_," Thomas said, very seriously- as if he had not lied to Jimmy's face several times, with promises about how he would of _course_ not get him a present, when Jimmy could not return the courtesy.

"Uh. You're so _difficult_," Jimmy said, but he couldn't even pretend to be angry. "Fine. I'll open it now."

Thomas smirked, and turned around, to dig something out of his dresser, and Jimmy sat on the edge of their bed- their _real_ bed, large enough to sleep in.

"Hmm," Jimmy said, when Thomas handed him a white box- and Jimmy opened it without preamble, peering inside.

"My _cards_," Jimmy said, pulling out a new pack of _Stongheart_ cards. He felt simple delight, and put the safely in the pocket of his suit. "But how did you...?"

"I waited until they showed _Brawn of The North_ in Ripon," Thomas said, looking rather pleased with himself.

"Nicely done," Jimmy said- and paused, and picked out another item from the box- a pair of white leather gloves.

"These are lovely- these are _dandy's_ gloves, I can't wear these," Jimmy said, turning them round. "I've never seen a white glove like this before," he said, looking at Thomas, who nodded in agreement. "They made me think of something," Thomas said.

"Yes," Jimmy said, putting one on and flexing his hand it it, experimentally. "Like a dream." He kissed Thomas on the face, and reached back in, to fish out the last item- and pulled, into the light, a gleaming jar- Jimmy's eyes widened- it was a jar of petrol jelly. Immediately he threw it at Thomas, who was beside himself with laughter.

"You _bastard_," Jimmy said, and began to laugh uncontrollably- "I- I can't _believe- hah- _that you gave me a _gag_ gift!"

"I couldn't resist," Thomas said, his shoulders shaking with mirth.

"I'll tell you what your gift will be, I'll spend all night breaking every last one of your bloody cigarettes in half," Jimmy said, and slumped forward onto Thomas, still laughing. "That's fine, I can still smoke the halves," Thomas said, laying back on the bed, one hand touching Jimmy's hair.

"Mm," Jimmy said, and crawled up Thomas's body with the studied care that had become second nature to him whenever he had to move. "Still a good present, though," Jimmy said, feeling tingles of lust work through him, and his kissed Thomas's lips.

"Hm. yes," Thomas said, against his mouth, and they pressed closer together in their embrace.

"God," Jimmy said, very carefully pressing his body to Thomas's. "Let's not go downstairs."

"If you rumple that suit, you'll be sorry," Thomas, said, although his eyes were dark with desire- and the threat of it induced Jimmy to get to his feet.

They went downstairs and had a proper Christmas feast with everybody- even the kitchen staff sat in with them- and Jimmy sat on the piano bench. Thomas sat next to him, but faced out towards the room, while Jimmy faced the keys. He played 'O Silent Night' and 'We Three Kings of Orient Are' and every other christmas carol he knew, while the smell of food commingled with the smell of the pine-bough wreath on the door, and was undercut with the scent of cigarettes.

"Come on," Jimmy cajoled the room, "let's have a proper caroling!" And they all joined in, except for Thomas- and probably O'Brien- singing along-

" On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love sent to me- _fiiiive _gol-den riiiiings,

four _calling birds_

three _french hens_

two _turtle doves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree!"_

They sang the song with raucous enthusiasm- everybody was well into their revelry and their cups- and at the end burst into a great round of applause. "Well done!" Jimmy cheered, "Let's have another!"

They sang until everyone was bored of it, and then Jimmy turned round on the bench, and watched the room with Thomas, who offered him a drag from his cigarette. Jimmy accepted it, and surveyed the room. "Look at that-" Jimmy said, in an undertone. Behind Molesley and O'Brien- who were engaged in a vigorous game of cards with the family Bates- Mrs. Hughes paused under the mistletoe- and Mr. Carson, the picture of gentlemanly courtship, gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek.

"Hmm," Thomas said, noncomittally. "Bound to happen."

"Easier to work that out if _you have telepathy_," Jimmy said, in an undertone, and Thomas glared daggers at him, but did not respond.

"I wish _we_ could kiss under the mistletoe like that," Jimmy said, wistfully, and Thomas turned to him, giving him a _look._

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Thomas said. "I've never met such a malcontent. It's enough, all that we get away with."

"Yes," Jimmy said, nodding his agreement, "-but why stop wanting things I shouldn't be able to have- when I can always seem to _get _them?"

"I-" Thomas broke off, and ruffled his hair, in full view of the room- but he drew not so much as a wayward look. "I don't know," Thomas said, dryly, after a moment. "Go ahead, Jimmy. Whatever you want, Jimmy. It's never gone _badly_ or anything."

"Just that _one_ time," Jimmy said, his hand involuntarily coming up to his right side. "But in every other way-"

"Hey! Give us another tune, or else what're you good for!" Alfred shouted, drunkenly heckling Jimmy from the table. "And a Happy Christmas to you!" Jimmy returned, laughing, and struck up another song.

Jimmy found himself marveling at _everything_- and why not, it was a marvelous world, really- but all so different from the way it had been just a year before. "Give us some cider," he said to Thomas, who obliged him, and Jimmy found the strength to play a few more songs. Finally it was time for the annual tradition- and Carson sat down to read a bit of _A Christmas Carol_, with candles lit for ambiance and everybody laughing at the abbreviated version of the story Carson told.

Jimmy watched the faces of everyone as they sat- and he observed happiness, and contentment, and very little ill will, beyond the petty day-to-day variety. _We've all been changed by it,_ Jimmy thought, but he didn't know if he meant the spirits, or _life_, that great unconquerable thing- or perhaps some other event that had only changed his _own_ self- that made him see the kinder parts of people.

_I love you,_ he thought, to Thomas, even though Thomas claimed he could not hear him- and Thomas put a hand on Jimmy's hand, in sight of everyone.

After that they excused themselves- not separately on some pretense, but together. "Happy Christmas!" Alfred said. "Don't- don't _hug_ me, you great idiot," Jimmy said, stepping out of Alfred's reach before his side could be painfully crushed. He did rather more magnanimously allow himself to be kissed by Ivy and Daisy and Mrs. Patmore- who had certainly consumed her share of cider- and Thomas nodded at O'Brien and kissed Mrs. Hughes on the cheek with great solemnity.

Downstairs the noise continued, and Jimmy made a pitiful effort to race Thomas up the stairs, but Thomas would not be goaded.

"Soon I'll be _perfect_ again," Jimmy said, annoyed at his weakness. "And you're _old_, you'll never beat me."

"When you're thirty-four I'll make it a point to tell you you're old," Thomas said, darkly, and opened the door to their room- but Jimmy noticed the implication of the phrase- that Thomas took for granted the fact of their still being together in nearly a decade. _Good, I'm glad you finally got it through your thick skull,_ Jimmy thought.

"Well, you'll be forty-one or forty-two then, and I'll make it a point to tell you you're _older,_" Jimmy said, happily, and after they locked the door he pulled off his suit, hanging it with the utmost delicacy. When he was done he turned to Thomas- who was at the basin, washing his face- and put his hands on Thomas's back, running his fingers up and down bare skin. "We have to do _that_, or I'm going to go mad," Jimmy said, with a catch in his voice- and Thomas turned around, and kissed Jimmy slowly.

"I _want_ you," Jimmy said, and he felt Thomas's pulse racing where their chests pressed together. "Hmm. Yes," Thomas said, and kissed his neck, very gently- and Jimmy shivered, and wondered how Thomas could induce such feelings in him- of lust and love and painful desire and anxiety- when in his few prior experiences he had felt _nothing_- perhaps because both times had been with women- but still it had been a revelation, to go twenty-six years without experiencing something that was now so integral to his life.

_And then one day you _do _experience it, and you realize that you weren't living at all, before,_ Jimmy thought, and tilted his chin up for another kiss- but Thomas was narrowing his eyes down at Jimmy.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"_Both_?" Thomas asked, his eyebrows almost reaching his hairline. "Both? You said _eleven_, Jimmy. You've said it many times."

"I didn't _say_ anything," Jimmy said, and Thomas realized his mistake, his eyes widening.

"Well- I- _I _can't believe you _lied_ to me about it," Thomas sputtered.

"I can't believe you lied to me about your _mind reading_!" Jimmy shot back, triumphantly. "I _knew_ you still-"

"Why say _eleven_?" Thomas asked.

"I wanted to make sure I had more than you," Jimmy said, simply. "How about the telepathy? Are you still using that little ditty the Madame gave you- that thing- something something _Cogito Ergo Sum_?'"

"Yes, that great mental exercise, 'something something, Latin, something', " Thomas said, smirking. "I can't believe you lied about that," he told Jimmy, again, but he didn't seem angry. "Sneaky."

"That's high praise, coming from _you_," Jimmy said. "But really, Thomas, are you all right? You don't get _nosebleeds_ anymore, do you?"

"I..." Thomas looked as though he'd rather not broach the subject at all, but after a long moment, he answered. "I- well, no. I actually- I have a decent handle on it. A very decent handle. I don't want to discuss it."

"That's not _fair_, it's not like I can just listen in on _your_ thoughts if you don't feel like _talking_," Jimmy said, but he could hardly contain himself- he was so happy he laughed, again, just for the pleasure of it. "You wouldn't have slipped up so if you hadn't been drinking," he told Thomas. "Of course I already knew."

"Of course," Thomas said, his voice low, and kissed Jimmy's neck again.

"I- _ah- _I must be _very_ complicated- because even with your mind reading you've never caught me out for that fake lovers thing before now," Jimmy said, leaning into Thomas. "Ah. Yes. Let's go lie down-"

They climbed onto the _real_ bed- and Jimmy laughed once more, as Thomas shucked off his underclothes. "I'm not so stupid that I would try something _eleven_ times before I realized I didn't _like_ it," Jimmy said, and leaned over, to touch Thomas's chest. "I knew I liked _you_ right away," he said.

"_No_, you didn't," Thomas corrected, pulling back the covers.

"Well it _seems_ like I did," Jimmy said, and stripped down to nothing, admiring the fantastic ugliness of the scar on his side for a moment.

"It doesn't bother you," Thomas said, looking with Jimmy at the wound, and flexed his own scarred hand.

"No," Jimmy said, shaking his head. "I'm rather proud of it. And the one on my hand." He looked Thomas up and down, from the dark ends of his hair to the line where his abdomen disappeared under the covers- and then he followed the line of his gaze with the touch of his hand, and watched Thomas close his eyes at the feeling. Jimmy rearranged himself on his left side, twining his legs with Thomas's, and pressed against him, feeling Thomas's erection against his thigh. "You want me," Jimmy said, staring into Thomas's heavy-lidded eyes, and he leaned forward, to kiss him, making a sound at the feeling of Thomas's mouth against his own. "I love your mouth," he told Thomas, and kissed the corners of it, rocking his hips back and forth.

"Ah," Thomas said, when Jimmy reached down, and touched his hardon lightly. _I love that feeling_, Jimmy thought, _and the look on your face and I'm so glad that you can hear me-_

Thomas's eyes had fluttered shut, and he ran his hands along Jimmy's stomach, skirting carefully around his right side, and drawing lines for a moment on his hips, in a way that made Jimmy hiss in frustration. "Touch me, please," he said, unevenly. Thomas nodded, and Jimmy took a breath at the feeling of Thomas's rough palm rubbing against the shaft of his penis. "_Nnn, _ yes," Jimmy said, weakly, and his hips moved against Thomas's touch. "Yes, _god_, I love that," Jimmy said, increasing the pace of his own hand against Thomas's body and drawing a gasp from him. "But you- you have to get behind me- _ah_- please-"

"Are you _sure_ you want to do it like that? I know it bothers you-" Thomas asked, his breath coming unevenly. He had a band of color across his face, and Jimmy squeezed his erection again, firmly, just to watch Thomas's composed expression crumple. "_Ah_," Thomas said, and brought his free hand to cover his eyes. "I mean it. Are you sure?"

"Yes. I want it." Jimmy said, his heart racing. He felt anxious- and filled with an arousal so intense that his stomach ached terribly. _Please, you must be able to feel how much I want it, please come here_, Jimmy thought, and his thoughts were eloquent enough, because Thomas climbed over him, and settled behind him, so that Jimmy lay with his back to Thomas's chest. "This feels nice," Jimmy said, but his pulse hammered in this throat- and he was suddenly, awfully, _nervous-_ it had been _weeks_- and he wanted it so much- and this was really the _most_ comfortable way for someone who'd been _stabbed_ in the side- but still- he couldn't _see _Thomas, and it made his stomach twist: that old feeling of vulnerability, come to claim him.

"Don't be nervous," Thomas said, into his ear, and his voice made Jimmy shiver. "I'm _not_," Jimmy said, and pushed back a little against Thomas, feeling their bodies together. "And don't you be nervous about _hurting_ me, either," Jimmy said, taking a breath at the feel of Thomas's lips against his throat. "I know how you are."

"I know how _you _are," Thomas said, lowly, and Jimmy inhaled at the sound of his voice. "Well," Jimmy said, unsteadily. "That's _that_, then, I suppose-" and he laughed a shaky little laugh.

He heard a noise behind him, and craned his neck. "Looking for my Christmas present?" Jimmy asked, cracking a smile. "No. We still have some left over from _last_ Christmas," Thomas said, coolly- but Jimmy could see where his pulse flickered in his throat, and how his mouth looked as though it had already been kissed for long hours.

Thomas rubbed a hand down Jimmy's chest, and Jimmy put his right arm behind himself- to pull Thomas closer to him- but it hurt too much to remain stretched out that way, and Jimmy made an irritated noise, and dropped his hand. "I can't _do_ anything," he said, frustrated, and Thomas kissed the side of his face. "It's alright," Thomas said, and ran a soothing hand through Jimmy's hair, and down the back of his neck, "it's alright, Jimmy. You're a terrible invalid, though. But I-"

"Come on," Jimmy said, pressing his back to Thomas's front. "Do it, please."

"Yes," Thomas said- and Jimmy felt Thomas press a finger inside him, and he took deep breaths, to keep himself from getting overly tense. "_Ah_," he said, when Thomas had worked his finger fully in. "Yes. That feels nice."

"Yes, it does," Thomas said, in a hoarse voice, and Jimmy moved experimentally against him- to see if it would hurt- but he felt no twinge, only pleasure, and he moaned. _Oh god Thomas that, yes, like that,_ he thought, and Thomas took a raggedy breath at his thought, and moved his finger again, until Jimmy braced himself up on his left elbow, impatiently. "Do another one," Jimmy said, gritting his teeth.

"Yes," Thomas muttered, and slid a second finger into him, and Jimmy made a noise- he didn't know what- at the sensation, and ground his body back into Thomas's hand. "I- _ah_- yes," Jimmy said, his voice sounding garbled in his own ears, and Thomas said _"Yes-"_ when he said it, though Jimmy knew he had his necklace on.

"Please, do it, I want you to," Jimmy said, and he _pushed_ his thoughts- and his lust, and his _need_- at Thomas, and it must have worked, because Thomas moaned, and pulled his hand back.

"Alright, but slowly," Thomas said, in Jimmy's ear, his voice distorted by desire, and he repositioned himself against Jimmy's back. Jimmy took a deep breath- and Thomas pushed into him.

"Ouch," Jimmy said, and Thomas stilled, though Jimmy could feel his limbs shaking. "Should we stop?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy felt simple love for him, stronger than anything he had ever known. "N-_no_," Jimmy said, glad, for once, that his face was turned away, so that Thomas could not see him blush- he felt oddly shy and terribly vulnerable. "It's not my injury, or anything- _ah-_ that feels good- it's just that we _haven't_- _ah-_ done this for a while, so-" Jimmy broke off, because it felt _so_ good- and he pushed back a little himself, to get _more -_

"_Hn_. God." Thomas said, but he himself did not move, so that they stayed pressed together that way, with no friction, and Jimmy's heart was beating too fast, and he had no relief-

"_God_, it's too much, I need you to move, I can't-" Jimmy begged, and Thomas kissed the side of his face, and reached down with unsteady fingers to grasp Jimmy's erection. The sensation on both sides was more than Jimmy was prepared for, and he gasped, pinioned by pleasure. _"Oh_," Jimmy said, taking in hitching breaths, as Thomas touched him.

"_Thomas_," Jimmy said, his voice cracking as he ground out the words- "Stop moving your hand or I'm going to come right now-" and he took the deepest breaths he could manage through his nose, and exhaled through his gritted teeth.

"It's _alright_, it's fine," Thomas said, and they lay still together, shuddering. _Oh Thomas, _Jimmy thought, his head spinning, _I can almost feel your feelings, too-_

Thomas let out a sound, half laugh and half groan, and kissed Jimmy's temple, his breath hot against Jimmy's hair.

"Are you in pain?" Thomas asked, and Jimmy laughed, and the movement of his body when he laughed created spasms of pleasure that worked through him, making him ache. "O-only- _ah_- the _good_ kind," Jimmy said, and he tried again to move against Thomas, but Thomas held still as stone.

"_Move_," Jimmy said, his voice unrecognizable even to himself, and he tried to grind back against the press of Thomas inside him, but Thomas restrained him, making Jimmy feel a wild spark of nervousness somewhere underneath the haze of lust.

"I don't want to hurt you by moving," Thomas said, in Jimmy's ear, sounding worried, and Jimmy relaxed as much as he could.

"I _love_ you," Jimmy replied- making sure to _think_ it at the same time he said it, and he turned back as much as he could, to look in Thomas's eyes.

"I love you, Jimmy," Thomas said, and kissed his face, his eyes shining.

"I- _ah_- please, just do _something_, it's- too much-" Jimmy begged, not caring for his dignity, his body shaking- and Thomas grasped Jimmy's penis again, running his fingers along the underside of it- but Thomas's body stayed painfully, _frustratingly _unmoving, and Jimmy moaned into the pillow at the touch-

"-_Yes, _that's right-" Thomas said, and Jimmy felt him bend over, so that lips met, and he groaned into the softness of the kiss and of Thomas's mouth-

"God- _ah-T-Thomas_, I really- I _really-_" Jimmy babbled, his voice senseless in his own ears, his universe divided into two points of pleasure- and Thomas took shuddering breaths in his ear, his pulse beating with the motions of his hand on Jimmy and the pulse of his body _inside_ Jimmy-

"_I- oh_- please," Jimmy moaned, moving as much as he could- but it wasn't _enough_, it could never be enough- "I _oh_, I- I'm going to-"

"Yes, do that," Thomas said, tightly, and moved his hips- just the barest fraction, making a sound at the feeling of it-

_"Ah-" _Jimmy hissed, his eyes falling shut- and Thomas squeezed his erection, and pushed into him, making Jimmy's muscles ache, and filling him with unbearable hot waves of pleasure-

"Ah _god_ - loveyou _yes_please, _more_, oh-" Jimmy moaned- and Thomas thrust into him, gently, and then Thomas moaned, too, his words indistinguishable- and they moved against each other-

"_Ah_," Jimmy said, and came, making senseless sounds, his body spasming, and drawing a moan from Thomas.

For a moment Jimmy could hear nothing but a ringing in his ears, and feel nothing but the throb of his own pulse in his throat- but then he got his bearings back- and realized Thomas was no longer _inside_ him.

"What are you doing?" Jimmy asked, turning carefully to lay on his back, and study Thomas, who was slumped over on the mattress, his chest rising and falling wildly. Thomas was extremely hard, and Jimmy could not stop himself from reaching out to touch Thomas's erection. "I didn't want to hurt you," Thomas said, and put his hands over his face when Jimmy touched him- but Jimmy pulled his hands away and dragged his head down, to kiss him. "_Ah-" _Thomas said, against his mouth. "_Yes-_"

"Mm, yes," Jimmy agreed, and _squeezed_ his palm around Thomas's penis. "Oh," Thomas said, _"Jimmy-I -_ah-I can't, I-_can't_-"

"That means you're _going_ to," Jimmy said, and squeezed harder- and Thomas came, his eyes tightly closed, and then slumped onto the bed, carefully avoiding the right side of Jimmy's body.

"That was _so_-" Jimmy began, after a long moment, and found that his voice was shaking- and Thomas leaned up over him, and looked into his face with concern.

"You don't need to _cry_," Thomas said, brushing his thumb against Jimmy's cheek, and Jimmy was astonished to find that his face was wet with tears. "I'm not _crying_," Jimmy said, annoyed. "It was- those are tears brought on by intense sensation- you know, intense _physical_ sensation. Not by _feelings._"

"Jimmy," Thomas said, and his lips quirked up into one of his wicked smiles- but then his face settled into a look of tenderness. "I'm reading your mind _right _now."

"Well," Jimmy said, knowing when he was beaten, "at least you _finally_ admit it."

Thomas laughed, and then bent his head, to kiss Jimmy's chest, right over his heart.

"We'll be doing much more of that presently," Jimmy mumbled. "I'm glad to be well again. Thomas-" he said, looking at him. "I'm so happy that you're alright. I can't- I can't even picture life without you, anymore."

Thomas looked at him in utter disbelief. "That _I'm_ alright?" He asked, incredulously. "You're the one who-"

"Almost died, right," Jimmy said, nodding. "But I'm just so glad, you know. Happy Christmas, Thomas."

"You too, Jimmy," Thomas said, and closed his eyes- and Jimmy was so struck by how he looked that he ran his hands gently against Thomas's temples. "It's been such an interesting year," Jimmy said.

"Rather stressful," Thomas replied, tugging Jimmy down on to the mattress with him.

"Mmm," Jimmy said. "But happy, though. I just can't believe it, sometimes."

"Believe what?" Thomas asked, tiredly, and they curled into one another, ready for sleep.

"What an enchanted life we live," Jimmy said, dreamily. "As if the world were made for us."

"Hmph," Thomas said, but he held Jimmy closer- and Jimmy reached his mind out to Thomas, as best he could-

_I love you, Thomas_, Jimmy thought, with all the sincerity and sweetness and insincerity and pettiness he could manage- with every part of who he was, and who he aspired to be- and with all the parts of himself that were worthy, and all the parts that were unworthy still. _I love you very much._

"I love you too, Jimmy," Thomas said, curling his left hand around Jimmy's right, and- with hands firmly clasped- they fell, happily, into dreams.


End file.
